
Book.JlJiST> 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



Three Plays 



The Dover Road 

The Truth About Blayds 

The Great Broxopp 

By 

A. A. Milne 



« 



G. P. Putnam's Sons 

New York and London 

1922 



1^ 






K^^.o3^^ 



Copyright, 1922, by 
A. A. Milne 



Made in the United States of Anierica 



©CI.A677560 



JUL IB 1922 



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^^ 



CONTENTS 




The Dover Road 


PAGE 

1 


The Truth About Blayds 


99 


The Great Broxopp . . ,. . 


. 191 



lU 



THE 

DOVER 

ROAD 

An 

Absurd 

Comedy 



FOREWORD 

THOSE who, having previously seen "The Dover 
Road," are now going to read it will find that 
Anne does not, after all, marry Mr. Latimer. 
They may, perhaps, assume that this is how I originally 
wrote the play, and that I was persuaded, against my 
better judgment, into a so-called happy ending which 
left Anne with the sound of wedding-bells in her ears. 
I owe it to Mr. McClintic, who produced the play so 
delightfully, to explain that such was not the case. I 
wrote it originally as he produced it; but, even as I 
wrote, I felt that I did not want Anne married; I was 
so much in love with her. To rescue her from Leonard 
was easy ; to save her from Nicholas was more difficult ; 
and, in an unguarded moment, while I was triumphing 
over Nicholas, Mr. Latimer got her. Dominic and I 
were both a little disappointed, but we said nothing. I 
knew that I should have another chance later on. 
"Wait," I said to the smiling Mr. Latimer, "until we 
get to rehearsals. Marry you ? Why, she doesn't even 
know your Christian name!" But I didn't think then 
that the first rehearsals would happen thousands of 
miles from Dover, and that I should not be there to 
save her. I expect Mr. Latimer knew. That is why 
he smiled. But of course once I got down to it, he 

3 



4 Foreword 

stood no chance. It is the printed word which remains, 
and here in print we have her saved. However, Mr. 
Latimer still smiles. He always knew in his heart that 
he was too old for her. In fact, sometimes I think that 
he and Anne only pretended in order to frighten 
Dominic. 

A. A. M. 



The Original Cast of 
"The Dover Road" 

The first performance on any stage was at the Bijou 
Theatre, New York City, on Friday afternoon, De- 
cember 23, 1 92 1. 

THE HOUSE 
Dominic, George Riddell 
The Staff, Phyllis Carrington 

Ann Winslow 

Edwin H. Morse 

George Nolan 

Latimer, Charles Cherry 

THE GUESTS 
Leonard, Reginald Mason 
Anne, Winifred Lenihan 
EusTASiA, Molly Pearson 
Nicholas, Lyonel Watts 

The Play was produced by Guthrie McCHntic. 



PEOPLE IN THE PLAY 
THE HOUSE 



THE GUESTS 



Dominic 
The Staff 
Mr. Latimer 

Leonard 
Anne 
eustasia 
Nicholas 



The Scene is the reception room of Mr, Latimer's 
house, a Httle way off the Dover Road. 

Act I. Evening. 

Act II. Next morning. 

Act III. Scene I. The same. 

Scene II. Three days later. 



ACT I 

What Mr. Latimer prefers to call the reception room 
of his house is really the hail. You come straight 
into it through the heavy oak front door. But 
this door is so well built, so' well protected by a 
thick purple curtain, and the room so well warmed 
by central heating, that none of the usual disad- 
vantages of a hall on a November night, attaches 
to it. Just now, of course, all the curtains are^ 
drawn, so that the whole of this side of the hall 
is purple-hung. In the middle of the room, a 
little to the right is a mahogany tahle, cloth-less, 
laid for three. A beautiful blue bowl, filled with 
purple anemones, helps, with the silver and the 
old cut glass, to decorate it. Over the whole 
room there is something of an Arabian-night- 
adventure air; Dulac might have had a hand in 
the designing of it. In the day time, perhaps, it 
it an ordinary hall, furnished a trifle freakishly, 
but in the night time one wonders what is going 
to happen next. 

Dominic, tall, stout and grave, the major-domo 
of the house, in a butler's old-fashioned evening 
dress, comes in. He stands looking at the room 
to see that all is as it should be, then walks to 
the table and gives a little touch to it here and 
there. He turns round and waits a moment. The 
Staff materialises suddenly — two footmen and 
two chambermaids. The men come from the left, 
the women from the right; over their clothes too 
Mr. Latimer has been a little freakish. They stand 

in a line. 

7 



8 The Dover Road 

Dominic: The blue room in the East wing is ready? 

The Men: Yes, Mr. Dominic. 

Dominic: The white room in the West wing is 
ready ? 

The Women: Yes, Mr. Dominic. 

Dominic: (Taking out his watch and looking at 
it.) The procedure will be as before. 

The Four: Yes, Mr. Dominic. 

Dominic: See to it that I have no fault to find. 
That will do. 

(They go out. He looks at his watch again 
and then follows the men. He is hardly out 
of the room, when a bell rings. He returns 
slowly, draws the curtain from the front 
door and opens it. Leonard, in fur-coat and 
cap, is seen standing outside. He is a big 
well-made man of about 35 — dark, with a 
little black tooth-brush moustache. When 
the door opens he gets his first sight of the 
interior of the room and is evidently taken 
by surprise.) 

Leonard: Oh — er — is this — er — an hotel? My 
chauffeur said — we've had an accident, been delayed 
on the way — he said that we could put up here — (He 
turns round and calls:) Here, Saunders! This can't 
be the place. (To Dominic.) Perhaps you could tell 
me 

Anne: (From outside, invisible.) Saunders has 
gone, Leonard. 

Leonard: (Turning round.) Gone! What the 
devil — (He plunges into the darkness.) 

Dominic: Saunders was perfectly correct, my lord. 
This is a sort of hotel. 



The Dover Road 9 

Anne: (Getting out of the car, but still invisible.) 
He went off as soon as you got out of the car. Leonard, 
are you sure ? 

{She comes into the light; he is holding her arm. 
She is young, tall, pretty; cool and self- 
confident in the ordinary may, but a little 
upset by the happenings of the night.) 

Dominic: (To Leonard.) Saunders was perfectly 
correct, my lord. This is a sort of hotel. 

Leonard: (Puzzled and upset.) What the devil's 
happened to him? (He looks out into the darkness.)^ 

Dominic: Doubtless he has gone round to the 
garage to get the doors open. Won't your lord- 
ship 

Leonard: You can put us up? Just for tonight. 
My — er — wife and myself 

Dominic: If your lordship and her ladyship will 
come in (He waits for them.) 

Leonard: (To Anne.) It's the best we can do, 
dear. I'm frightfully sorry about it, but, after all, 
what difference 

Anne: (Giving him a look which meams ''Don't 
talk like this in front of hotel servants.") I daresay 
it will be quite comfortable. It's only for one night. 
(She comes in, followed 'by Leonard.) 

Dominic: Thank — you, my lady. 

(He shuts and bolts the doors: then draws the 
curtains. There is an cuir of finality about it. 
Anne looks back at the noise of the bolts go- 
ing home, with something of a start. They 
are locked in now for good. Leonard, his 
eye on the supper-table , is saying to himself, 
''Dashed rummy sort of hotel.'') 



lo The Dover Road 

Dominic: Allow me, my lady. (He helps them 
oif with their coats.) 

Leonard: You can give us something to eat? 

Anne: I don't want anything, Leonard. 

Leonard: Nonsense, dear. 

Dominic: Supper will be served in five minutes, my 
lord. 

Anne: {Suddenly.) Do you know who we are? 

Dominic: I have not that pleasure, my lady. 

Anne: Then why do you call me *my lady'? 

Leonard: {Disliking a scene.) My dear! 

Anne: {Waruing hack Leonard's protesting arm.) 
No, Leonard. (To Dominic.) Well? 

Dominic: His lordship mentioned that your lady- 
ship was his wife. 

Anne: Y — yes . . . Then you know him by sight? 
Leonard: (Complacently.) Well, my dear, that 
need not surprise you. 

Dominic: I know his lordship's rank, my lady. Not 
his lordship's name. 

Leonard: (Surprised.) My rank? How the devil 



Dominic: Supper will be served in five minutes, my 
lady. (He bows and goes out.) 

(There is silence for a little. They look at the 
table, at the room, at each other. Then 
Leonard says it aloud.) 

Leonard: Dashed rummy sort of hotel! 

Anne: (Coming closer and holding his arms.) 
Leonard, I don't like it. 

Leonard: Pooh! Nonsense, dear. 



The Dover Road ii 

Anne: It almost seems as though they had expected 
us. 

Leonard: {Laughing.) My dear child, how could 
they? In the ordinary way we should have been at 
Dover — why, almost at Calais by this time. 

Anne: I know. {In distress.) Why aren't we? 

Leonard: The car — Saunders, a fool of a chauffeur 
— a series of unfortunate accidents- 

Anne: Do you often have these unfortunate acci- 
dents, Leonard? 

Leonard: My dear Anne, you aren't suggesting 
that I've done this on purpose! 

Anne: No, no. {She leaves him and goes and sits 
down.) But why tonight of all nights? 

Leonard: Of course, it's damned annoying missing 
the boat, but we can get it tomorrow morning. We 
shall be in Paris tomorrow night. 

Anne: Tomorrow night — but that makes such a 
difference. I hate every hour we spend together like 
this in England. 

Leonard: Well, really, I don't see why 

Anne: You must take it that I do, Leonard. I told 
you from the first that it was run-away or nothing 
with me; there was going to be no intrigue, no lies 
and pretences and evasions. And somehow it seems 
less — less sordid, if we begin our new life together in 
a new country. {With a\ little smile.) Perhaps the 
French for what we are doing is not quite so crude as 
the English . . . Yes, I know it's absurd of me, but 
there it is. 

Leonard: {With a shrug.) Oh, well! {Taking 
out his case.) Do you mind a cigarette? 



12 The Dover Road 

Anne: {Violently.) Oh, why do men always want 
to smoke, even up to the moment when they're going 
to eat? Can't you breathe naturally for five minutes? 

Leonard: (Sulkily, putting his case back.) I beg 
your pardon. 

Anne: No, I beg yours. 

Leonard: You're all to bits. 

Anne: Nerves, I suppose. 

Leonard: Nonsense! My Anne with nerves ? (Bit- 
terly.) Now if it had been Eustasia 

Anne: (Coldly.) Really, Leonard, I think we had 
better leave your wife out of the conversation. 

Leonard: I beg your pardon. 

Anne: (To herself.) Perhaps you're right. In a 
crisis we are all alike, we women. 

Leonard: (Going over to her.) No, damn it, I 
won't have that. It's — it's blasphemy. Anne, my 
darling — (She stands up and he takes her hands.) 

Anne: Oh! ... I am different, aren't I? 

Leonard : Darling ! 

Anne: I'm not a bit like — like anybody else, am I, 
not even when I'm cross? 

Leonard : Darling ! 

Anne : And you do love me ? 

Leonard: Darling! (He wants to kiss her, hut 
she stops him.) 

Anne: No. Now you're going to smoke. (She 
settles him in his chair, takes a cigarette from, his 
case and puts it in his mouth.) I'll light it for you. 
Matches? (She holds out her hand for them.) 

Dominic: (Who has a way of being there when 
wanted.) Matches, my lady. (He hands them to her. 
They are both rather confused.) ' 



The Dover Road 13 

Anne. Thank you. 

Leonard: {Annoyed.) Thanks. {He gets up, 
takes the matches from Anne, and lights his cigarette.) 
{Dominic gives a professional touch to the table 
and goes out.) 

Damn that fellow. 

Anne: {Smiling.) After all, darling, he thinks I'm 
your wife ... Or don't wives light their husband's 
cigarettes ? 

Leonard: I believe you're right, Anne. There's 
something odd about this place, 

Anne: So you feel it now? 

Leonard: What did he mean by saying he knew my 
rank, but not my name? 

Anne: {Lightly.) Perhaps he looked inside your 
cap — like Sherlock Holmes — and saw the embroidered 
coronet. 

Leonard: How do you mean? There's nothing in- 
side my cap. 

Anne: No, darling. That was a joke. 

Leonard: And the table laid. Only one table. 

Anne: Yes, but it's for three. They didn't expect 
us. 

Leonard: {Relieved.) So it is . . . It's probably 
a new idea in hotels — some new stunt of Harrods — 
or what's the fellow's name? — Lyons. A country- 
house hotel. 

{Dominic comes in.) 

By the way, Anne, what will you drink? {To 
Dominic.) Let me have the wine-list, will you? 

Dominic: Bollinger 1906 has been ordered, my 
lord. 

Leonard: Ordered? 



14 The Dover Road 

Dominic: Mr. Latimer will be down in two min- 
utes, my lady. He asks you to forgive him for not 
being here to receive you. 

Leonard: Mr. Latimer? Who on earth's Mr. 
Latimer ? 

Dominic: If you would wish to be shown your 
room, my lady 

Anne: (Who has not taken her eyes off him.^ No, 
thank you. 

Leonard: (Stepping forward.) Look here, my 
man, is this an hotel or have we come to a private 
house by mistake? 

Dominic: A sort of hotel, my lord. I assure your 
lordship there is no mistake. Thank you, my lad}i. 
(Lie goes out.) 

Anne: (Laughing half-hysterically as she sits 
down.) Very original man, Harrod. Or is it Lyons? 

Leonard: Look here, I'm going to get to the bot- 
tom of this. (He starts after Dominic.) 

Anne: Why bother? Mr. Latimer will be here in 
two minutes. 

Leonard: (Turning hack.) Yes, but who the 
devil's Mr. Latimer? 

Anne: (With interest.) Leonard, do you always 
arrange something fascinating like this when you 
elope ? I think it's so romantic of you. But don't you 
think that the mere running away is enough just at 
first? Leaving the fogs and the frets of England, the 
weariness and the coldness of it, and escaping together 
to the warm blue sun-filled South — isn't that romantic 
enough? Why drag in a mysterious and impossible 
inn, a mysterious and impossible Mr. Latimer? You 



The Dover Road 15 

should have kept them for afterwards; for the time 
when the poetry was wearing out, and we were begin- 
ning to get used to each other. 

Leonard: My dear girl, what are you driving at? 
I say again — do you really think that I arranged all 
this? 

Anne: (With a shrug.) Well, somebody did. 
(The two Footmen and the two Chambermaids 
come in and take up positions on each side 
of the table. They are followed by Dominic.) 

Dominic: Mr. Latimer! 

(Mr. Latimer comes in, Dominic and his Staff 
retire. ) 

Latimer: Good evening! 

(He hows with an air. A middle-aged gentle- 
man, dressed rather fantastically as regards 
his tie and his dinner-jacket and the flower 
in his buttonhole.) 

Leonard: Good evening. Er 

Latimer: You will forgive me for being announced 
in my own house, but I find that it saves so much 
trouble. If I had just come in and said, *I am Mr. 
Latimer,' then you would have had to say, 'And I am 
— er — So-and-So, and this is — er — ' Exactly. I mean 
we can get on so much better without names. But of 

course 

Leonard: You will excuse me, sir, but 

Latimer: (Going happily on.) But of course, as 
you were just going to say, we must call each other 
something. (Thoughtfully.) I think I shall call you 
Leonard. There is something about you — forgive the 
liberty — something Leonardish. (With a very szveet 
smile to Anne.) 1 am sure you agree with me. 



i6 The Dover Road 

Anne: I am wondering whether this is really hap- 
pening, or whether I am dreaming it. 

Latimer: (His back to Leonard.) And Leonard 
isn't wondering at all; he is just tapping his forehead 
with a great deal of expression. 

(Leonard, who was doing this, stops in some 
confusion.) 

Leonard: (Coldly.) I think we have had enough 
of this, Mr. Latimer. I was giving you the benefit 
of the doubt. If you are not mad, then I will ask you 
for some other explanation of all this nonsense. 

Latimer: (Sniffing at the flower in his button- 
hole.) An impetuous character, Leonard. It must be 
so obvious to everybody else in the room that an ex- 
planation will be forthcoming. But why not a friendly 
explanation following a friendly supper? 

Anne: Are we your guests? 

Latimer: Please. 

Anne: Thank you. 

Latimer: But there is still this question of names. 
Now we agreed about Leonard 

Anne: (Looking at him fearlessly.) My name is 
Anne. 

Latimer: Thank you. Miss Anne. 

Leonard: (Awkwardly.) Er — my wife. 

Latimer: Then I am tempted to leave out the 
"Miss." 

Leonard: (Annoyed again.) Look here 



Latimer: (Turning to him.) But there is some- 
thing to look at, if I do, Leonard. 

(The Staff comes in.) 



The Dover Road 17 

Ah, supper. Will you sit here, Anne? {He goes 
to the head of the table, and indicates the chair on the 
right of him.) And you here, Leonard? {The chair 
on the left.) That's right. 
( They all sit down. 

Dominic and the Staff serve the supper. Five 
of them, so things go quickly.) 

Latimer: "A little fish, a bird, a little sweet. 
Enough to drink, but not too much to eat." I com- 
posed that in my bath this morning. The wine has 
been waiting for you since 1906. 

( They are all served with fish, and the wine has 
been poured out.) 

Dominic, dismiss the Staff. We would be alone. 
( They are alone. He rises, glass in hand. ) 

My friends, I will give you a toast. {He raises 
his glass. ) A Happy Ending ! 

Anne: {Lifting her glass.) A Happy Ending. 

Latimer: You don't drink, Leonard. You would 
have the adventure end unhappily, as is the way of 
the modern novel? 

Leonard: I don't understand the beginning of it, 
Mr. Latimer. I don't — you will forgive me for say- 
ing so — I don't see how you came into it. Who are 
you? 

Anne: Our host, Leonard. 

Leonard: So it seems, my dear. But in that case, 
how did we come here? My chauffeur told us that 
this was an hotel — your man assured me, when I asked, 
that it was an hotel, a sort of hotel. And now it seems 
that we are in a private house. Moreover, we seem 
to have been expected. And then again — if you will 
forgive me — it appears to be an unusual kind of house. 
I tell you frankly that I don't understand it. 



i8 The Dover Road 

Latimer: I see your difficulty, Leonard. 
Leonard: (Stiffly.) Nor am I accustomed to be- 
ing called Leonard by a perfect stranger. 

Latimer: What you are saying for yourself is, 
"Who is this man Latimer? Is he known? Is he in 
the Stud Book? — I mean Debrett. Is he perhaps one 
of the Hammersmith Latimers, or does he belong to 
the Ealing Branch?" 

Anne: {Eating — calmly.) What does it matter? 

Latimer: Yes, but then you like the fish. Leonard 
doesn't. 

Leonard: I have no fault to find with the fish. You 
have an excellent cook. 

Latimer: (Graruely bowing.) I beg your pardon, 
I thank you. 

{Dominic comes in.) 

His lordship likes the fish. 

Dominic: Thank you, sir. I will inform the cook. 
{He goes out.) 

Anne: When you are giving us your tiresome ex- 
planations after supper, Mr. Latimer, I wish you would 
just add one more to them. 

Latimer: But of course. 

Anne: Your Mr. Dominic's appearances are so apt. 
How is it done? 

Latimer: {Pulling down his cuff.) Yes, I'll make 
a note of that. {He writes on it.) Dominic, — Apt 
appearance of. 

{Dominic re-appears. ) 
Latimer: Admit the bird, Dominic, ' 

{Dominic goes out.) 

Leonard: {Rising stiffly.) I'm afraid we shall have 
to be getting on now, Mr. Latimer . . . Anne, dear 



The Dover Road 19 

. . . We are much obliged for your hospitality, but 
— er — I imagine we are not far from Dover 

Latimer: On the Dover Road, certainly. 

Leonard: Exactly. So if you would — er — have in- 
structions given to my chauffeur — er — (He hesitates 
as the Staff comes in.) 

Latimer: Dominic, his lordship's glass is empty. 
He wishes to drink my health. 

Dominic: I beg your pardon, my lord. (The glass 
is filled. ) 

Latimer: And while he is up, just find his lordship 
a more comfortable chair. He has been a little un- 
easy on that one all through the fish. 

Dominic: (Removing the chair.) I beg your par- 
don, my lord. 

(A Servant approaches mith another one.) 

Latimer: (Rising with his glass and drinking to 
Leonard.) Prosit! (He sits down, and Leonard me- 
chanically sits down too.) Now for the bird. (To 
Anne.) I like these little ceremonies in between the 
courses. Don't you? 

Anne: I'm liking my supper. 

Latimer: I am so glad. (As Anne is helped.) I 
shot this bird myself. (He looks at it through his 
gkiss.) What is it, Dominic? 

Dominic: Poulet en casserole with mushrooms, sir. 

Latimer: Poulet en casserole with mushrooms. I 
shot the mushrooms ... A large help for his lord- 
ship, Dominic. (To Leonard.) Let me introduce 
your chicken to you, Leonard. One of the Buff- 
Orpingtons. I daresay you know the family. His 
mother was a Wyandotte. He was just about to con- 



20 The Dover Road 

tract an alliance with one of the Rock girls, the 
Plymouth Rocks, when the accident happened. 

{They are alone again now, plates and glasses 
well filled. Leonard, who has been waiting 
impatiently for the Staff to go, pushes back 
his chair and gets up.) 

Latimer: Dear me! Not a third chair, surely? 

Leonard: yNovj look here, Mr. Latimer, this farce 
has gone on long enough. I do not propose to sit 
through a whole meal without some further explana- 
tion. Either we have that explanation now, or else — 
Anne, dear — or else we'll be getting on our way. 

Latimer: (Thoughtfully.) Ah, but which is your 
way? 

Leonard: Dover. My chauffeur seems to have got 
off the track a little, but if you can put us on to the 
Dover Road 

Latimer: (To himself.) The Dover Road! The 
Dover Road! A dangerous road, my friends. And 
you're travelling in the dark. 

Leonard: Really, Mr. Latimer, that needn't frighten 
us. 

Anne: (Putting her hand on his arm.) What do 
you mean? 

Latimer: A strange road, Anne, for you. A new 
untravelled road. 

Leonard: Nonsense. She's often been this way be- 
fore. Haven't you, dear? 

Anne: (Shaking her head.) No . . . But I'm not 
frightened, Mr. Latimer. 

(There is silence for a little. Then Dominic 
appears noiselessly.) 



The Dover Road 21 

Latimer: Dominic, supper is over. His lordship 
loved the chicken — too well to eat it. He adored the 
mushrooms — in silence. Inform the cook. 

Dominic: Yes, sir. 

Latimer: (Offering his case to Anne) A cigarette? 

Anne: No, thank you. 

Latimer: You permit it? 

Anne: Of course. 

Latimer: Thank you. 

Dominic: {To Leonard.) Cigar, my lord? 

Leonard: Er — thanks. 

Latimer: Well, shall we ? 

( They get up, and move into more comfortable 
chairs, Latimer talking.) 

Latimer: Which chair would you like, Anne? 
There? {She sits down.) That's right. Now then, 
Leonard, we want something especially comfortable for 
you. You are a little finicky about chairs if you don't 
mind my saying so . . . What about that one? Just 
try it and see how you like it. 

{Leonard tries it, and sinks into it up to the 
neck.) 
Yes, I think you will be happy there. And I shall sit 
here. Now everything is ready. 
( They are alone again. ) 

Leonard: { With as much dignity as is possible from 
that sort of chair.) I am waiting, Mr. Latimer. 

Latimer: I am waiting, Leonard, for your questions. 

Anne. Let me begin with one. {He turns to her.) 
Your table was laid for three. For whom were the 
other two places intended? 

Latimer: For yourself and Leonard. 

Anne: You expected us? 



22 The Dover Road 

Latimer: Yes. 

Anne: How did you know we were coming? 

Latimer: Saunders had his instructions to bring 
you. 

Leonard: (Starting tip from his chair — or trying 
to.) Saunders! My chauffeur! Do you mean to 
say __ 

Latimer: Let me help you up, Leonard. You have 
the wrong chair again. It is difficuh to be properly 
indignant in that one. (He helps him into a sitting 
position.) That's better. You were saying 

Leonard: You mean to tell me that you had the 
audacity to bribe my chauffeur? 

Latimer: No, no, Leonard. What I mean is that 
yon had the foolhardiness to bribe my friend Saunders 
tO' be your chauffeur. 

Leonard: Upon my word 

Anne: Who Is Saunders? 

Latimer: Saunders? He's Joseph's brother. Joseph 
was the gentleman in orange. I don't know if you 
noticed him. He helped you to fish. 

Leonard: (Out of the chair at last.) How dare 
you interfere in my concerns in this way, sir! 

Anne: Before you explain how you dare, Mr. Lati- 
men, I should like to know why you are so interested 
in us. Who are you ? 

Latimer: No more than Mr. Latimer. It is a purely 
impersonal interest which I take — and I take it just 
because you are going the Dover Road, my dear, and 
it is a dangerous road for a young girl to travel. 

Anne: (Very cool, very proud.) I don't think I 
asked you to be interested in me. 

Latimer: Nobody does, my dear. But I am. Very 
interested. In all my fellow travellers. It is my hobby. 



The Dover Road 23 

Leonard: Anne! {He means, "Let's get out of 
this." He makes a movement to the front door.) 

Latimer: The door is locked, Leonard. 

Leonard: {Bending over him and putting his face 
very close to Latimer's.) Ah! Then I will give you 
one minute in which to open it. 
{Dominic has come in.) 

Latimer: Dominic, his lordship's face is just a little 
too close to mine. Could you — thank you. 

{Leonard has started hack on noticing 
Dominic.) 
Coffee ? Excellent. 

{The Footmen come round with coffee.) 
Anne: No, thank you. 
Leonard: No, thanks. {He sits on another chair.) 

Latimer: No, thank you. By the way, Dominic, 
did you go round to the Hospital this afternoon? 

Dominic: Yes, sir. The young gentleman is getting 
on nicely. He was able to take a little bread-and-milk 
this morning. 

Latimer: Ah, I'm glad. Nothing solid yet? 

Dominic: No, sir. The jaw is still very tender. 
{He goes out.) 

Latimer: {To Leonard.) He bumped it against my 
knuckles last week. An impetuous young fellow. He 
was running away with — dear me, I forget her name — 
I always forget names. I think he called her Pussy. 
She had several children. {Unconsciously he has shot 
his cuff, and sees suddenly the note he has made.) 
What's this? "Dominic. Apt appearance of." Ah, 
yes. {He turns to Anne.) It's very simple. A little 
fad of mine. There are bells everywhere in this room ; 



24 The Dover Road 

in every chair, on the table, in the floor, wherever I am, 
I can press a bell for Dominic. He is always close at 
hand on reception-evenings. Yes. 

Anne: That was a little display of force which you 
were giving us just now? 

Latimer: (Apologetically.) Yes. I thought it bet- 
ter. Leonard is so impetuous. Joseph and Jacob were 
both amateur champions in their day. Dominic is a 
very heavy fall-er. He never has to fall on a man 
twice. If all this is quite understood at the beginning, 
it makes it so much easier. 

Anne: (Getting up.) Mr. Latimer, I assure you 
that this is not a sudden freak of fancy, and that I 
know my own mind. I ask you, as a gentleman, to 
open the door. 

Latimer: (Shaking his head.) I am afraid it is 
impossible, Anne. 

(She shrugs her shoulders and sits down.) 

Leonard: (Calm for the moment.) So we are kept 
here by force ? 

Latimer: Need we insist upon it? Let us rather 
say that you have postponed your visit to France in 
order to spend a few days with a friend. 

Leonard: I prefer to say force. 

Latimer: (With a bow.) I do not dictate your 
words to you. Your movements for the moment, yes. 
So let us say "force." 

Leonard: We are prisoners in fact? 

Latimer: Within the limits of my house. 

Leonard: And if my — my wife chooses to walk out 
of your front door tomorrow morning, your — your 
fellow-conspirators would lay hands on her and stop 
her? 



The Dover Road 25 

Latimer: My dear Leonard, why should your — your 
wife want to walk out of the front door tomorrow? 
What would she want to do in the garden in Novem- 
ber ? Do be reasonable. 

Leonard: Suppose she wished to walk to the nearest 
police-station ? 

Latimer : ( To Anne. ) Do you ? 

Anne: {With a smile.) Could I? 

Latimer: If you stood on Leonard's shoulders you 
might just reach the top of the wall. . . . Dominic 
tells me that they have lost the key of the gates. Very 
careless of them. 

Leonard: Well, I'm — It's monstrous! 

Anne: Yes, but we can't keep on saying that. Here 
we are apparently, and here we have to stay. But I 
still want to know very much zi/hy Mr. Latimer has this 
great desire for our company. 

Leonard: You have the advantage of me now, sir, 
but you will not always have it. The time will come 
when I shall demand satisfaction for this insult. 

Latimer: (With an air — rising and bowing.) My 
lord! Letters addressed to me at the Charing Cross 
Post Office will always be forwarded. 

Leonard: (Slightly upset.) This gross insult to 
myself and — er — my wife. 

Latimer: No, no, not your wife. 

Leonard: How dare you! 

Latimer: (In alarm.) Surely I haven't made a mis- 
take. (To Anne.) You and he are running away 
together, aren't you ? 

Leonard: (A step nearer.) Look here, sir 

Anne: Oh, Leonard, what's the good? We aren't 
ashamed of it, are we? Yes, Mr. Latimer, we are 
running away together. 



26 The Dover Road 

Latimer: Of course! Why not? Leonard, you 
aren't ashamed of it, are you? 

Leonard: I object to this interference in my private 
affairs by a 

Latimer: Yes, yes, but you've said all that. It's 
interfering of me, damnably interfering. But I am 
doing it because I want you both to be happy. 

Leonard: I can look after my own happiness. 

Latimer: And this lady's? 

Leonard: She is good enough to believe it. 

Anne: I am not a child. Do you think I haven't 
thought? The scandal, the good name I am going to 
lose, the position of that other woman, I have thought 
of all these things. 

Latimer: There is one thing of which you haven't 
thought, Anne. 

Anne: I am afraid you are old-fashioned. You are 
going to talk to me of morality. 

Latimer: (Smiling.) Oh, no, I wasn't. 

Anne: (Not heeding him.) Living alone here, a 
bachelor, within these high walls which keep the world 
out, you believe what the fairy-books tell us, that once 
two people are married they live happy ever after. 

Latimer: Oh, no, I don't. 

Anne: I am the wicked woman, coming between the 
happy husband and wife, breaking up the happy home. 
Is that it, Mr. Latimer? 

Leonard: Rubbish! The happy home! Why, this 
is my first real chance of happiness. 

Latimer: His first real chance of happiness! Ashe 
said when he proposed to Eustasia. 
Leonard: (Upset.) What's that? 



The Dover Road 27 

Latimer: (To Anne.) May I ask you some ques- 
tions now? 

Anne: Yes? 

Latimer: Eustasia will divorce him? 

Leonard: We shall not defend the suit. 

Latimer: And then you will marry Anne? 

Leonard: Another insult. I shall not forget it. 

Latimer: I beg your pardon. I simply wanted an 
answer. 

Anne: He will marry me. 

Latimer: I see. And then, as the fairy-books tell 
us, you will live happy ever after? 
{Anne is silent.) 

Leonard: I need hardly say that I shall do my best 
to 

Latimer: (To Anne.) And then, as the fairy-books 
tell us, you will live happy ever after? 

(Anne is silent.) 
I live within my high walls which keep the world out ; 
I am old-fashioned, Anne. You are modern, you 
know the world. You don't believe the fairy-books, 
and yet — you are going to live happy ever after ? 

Leonard: I don't see what you're driving at. 

Latimer: Anne does. 

Anne: (Raising her eyes to his.) I take the risk, 
Mr. Latimer. 

Latimer: But a big risk . . . Oh, believe me I am 
not so much out of the world as you think. Should I 
have known all about you, should I have brought you 
here, if I were? I know the world; I know the risks 
of marriage. Marriage is an art — well, it's a profes- 
sion in itself. (Sharply.) And what are you doing? 



28 The Dover Road 

Marrying a man whose only qualification for the pro- 
fession is that he has tried it once, and made a damned 
hash of it. 

Leonard: Well, really, sir! 

Latimer: Isn't it true? 

Leonard: Well — er — I admit my marriage has not 
been a happy one, but I venture to say — well, I don't 
wish to say anything against Eustasia 

Latimer: Goon. Life is too short for us to be gen- 
tlemen all the time. 

Leonard: (Explosively.) Well then, I say that 
not even St. Michael and all his angels could have made 
a success of it. I mean, not even St. Michael. 

Latimer: Yet you chose her. 
Leonard: Er — well — {But he has nothing to say.) 
Latimer: (After a pause.) Miss Anne, I am not 
being moral. You see, I am a very rich man, and we 
know on good authority that it is difficult for a very 
rich man to be a very good man. But being a very rich 
man I try to spend my money so that it makes somebody 
else happy besides myself. It's the only happy way of 
spending money, isn't it? And it's my hobby to prevent 
people — to try if I can prevent people — making un- 
happy marriages . . . It's wonderful what power 
money gives you. Nobody realises it, because nobody 
ever spends it save in the obvious ways . . . You may 
say that I should have prevented Leonard from marry- 
ing Eustasia in the first place. I have done that 
sometimes. I have asked two young people here— oh, 
properly chaperoned — and guests, not prisoners as you 
are — two young people who thought that they were in 
love, and I have tried to show each to the other in the 
most unromantic light. I have let the girl see her lover 
when he was angry, when he was sulky, when he had 



The Dover Road 29 

lost his sense of humour. I have shown the girl to the 
man when she had forgotten her dignity, when she 
was greedy, ill-tempered . . . Sometimes the engage- 
ment has been broken off. Sometimes they have mar- 
ried and — lived happy ever after But mostly 

it is my hobby to concentrate on those second marriages 
into which people plunge — with no parents now to 
restrain them — so much more hastily even than they 
plunge into their first adventure. Yet how much more 
carefully they should be considered, seeing that one at 
least of the parties has already proved his utter igno- 
rance of the art of marriage . . . And so, my dear 
friends, when I hear — and a rich man has many means 
of hearing — when I hear that two people are taking 
the Dover Road, as you were taking it tonight, I ven- 
ture to stop them, and say, in the words of the fairy- 
book, "Are you sure you are going to live happy ever 
after?" 

Leonard: Your intentions may be good, but I can 
only repeat that your interference is utterly unwar- 
ranted, and you are entirely mistaken as to the power 
and authority which your money gives you. 

Latimer: Authority, none. But power? (He 
laughs.) Why my dear Leonard, if I offered you a 
hundred thousand pounds to go back to your wife to- 
night this lady would never see you again. 

Leonard: Well, of all the damnable things to 
say 

Latimer: How damnable the truth is! Think it 
over tonight, Leonard. You are a poor man for your 
position — think of all the things you could do with a 
hundred thousand pounds. Turn it over in your mind 
— and then over and over again. A hundred thousand 
pounds. 

(For a moment it seems as if Leonard is begin- 
ning to turn it, but Anne interrupts.) 



30 The Dover Road 

Anne: (Scornfully.) Is this part of the treatment^ 
Am I being shown my lover when he is mercenary? 

Latimer: (With a laugh.) Oh no! If that were 
part of my treatment, there would be no marriages at 
all. Oh no, it isn't a genuine offer. (To Leonard.) 
It's off, Leonard. You needn't think it out any more. 

(Leonard wakes up suddenly, a poor man.) 
Besides, you misunderstand me. I don't want to sep- 
arate you by force — I have no right to. 

Anne: But how modest suddenly! 

Latimer: (With a bow and a smile.) Madam, I 
admire your spirit. 

Anne: Leonard, I am receiving the attentions of an- 
other man. Beware of jealousy . . . All part of the 
treatment, Mr. Latimer? 

Latimer: You're splendid. (Seriously.) But I 
meant what I said just now. I am not preventing you 
from going the Dover Road, I am only asking you to 
wait a few days and see how you get on. It may be 
that you two are the perfect soul-mates ; that your union 
has already been decreed in Heaven and will be watched 
over by the angels. If so, nobody will rejoice in your 
happiness more than I. I shall not say, "You have no 
right to be happy together. Leonard must remain 
with his lawfully-wedded Eustasia." Believe me, I do 
not waste my money, my time, my breath in upholding 
the sanctity of an unhappy marriage. I was brought 
up in the sanctity of an unhappy marriage; even as a 
child I knew all about it. (Less seriously.) But oh, 
my dear Anne, let us have a little common-sense before 
we adventure marriage with a man who is always 
making a mess of it. We know what Leonard is — how 
perfectly hopeless as a husband. 

Anne: I don't think that is quite fair. 



The Dover Road 31 

Latimer: Well as far as we can tell, you've never 
made a happy marriage yet, have you, Leonard? 

Leonard: {Sulkily.) I don't want to say anything 
against Eustasia 

Latimer: Good God, man, aren't you shouting it 
all the time? Why else are you here? But don't try 
to pretend that it's all Eustasia's fault. 

Leonard: (Doubtfully.) Well 

Latimer: Or that it will be all Anne's fault next 
year. 

Leonard: What do you mean, next year? 

Latimer: I beg your pardon. I should have said 
the year after next. 

( There is a little silence. ) 

Anne: {Getting up.) I think I will go to bed. 
How long do you want us to wait ? 

Latimer: Can you spare a week? You with so 
many years in front of you. 

Anne: I have a father. I left him a note to say 
what I was doing. We don't see much of each other, 
but I thought it polite. Does that interfere with your 
plans at all ? 

Latimer: {Smiling.) Not at all. There was a little 
mistake about the delivery of that note. Your father 
is under the impression that you are staying with 
friends — in Kent ... A great power, money. 

Anne: I congratulate you on the perfection of your 
methods. Good-night. 

(Dominic is in the room.) 
Latimer: Her ladyship will retire. 
Dominic: Yes, sir. (He goes out.) 



^2 The Dover Road 

Latimer: Good-night, Miss Anne. 

Anne: {Holding out her hand suddenly.) Without 
prejudice. 

Latimer: {Betiding ozrer it gallantly.) Ah, but you 
are prejudicing me entirely. 

{A maid comes in.) 

Maid: This way, my lady. 

{She leads the way to a door on the right, and 
Anne follows her.) 

Latimer: {Pleasantly, to Leonard.) And did you 
leave a note for your father, Leonard? 

Leonard: You ought to know. You appear to 
have your conspirators everywhere. Saunders — and 
I suppose Anne's maid — and God knows who else. 

Latimer: Money, Leonard, money. A pity you 
refused that hundred thousand pounds. You could 
have bribed the Archbishop of Canterbury to curse me 
. . . Well, a week here won't do either of you any 
harm. Have a whiskey and soda? 

Leonard: I am not at all sure that I ought to drink 
in your house. 

Latimer: You will be thirsty before you go. 

Leonard: {Hesitating.) Well 

{A Footman appears with the whiskey.) 

Latimer: That's right. Help yourself, won't you? 

Leonard: {Helping himself.) Please understand 
that I do this, as I do everything else in your house, 
under protest. 

Latimer: {Shooting his cuff and taking out his 
pencil.) Your protest is noted. 



The Dover Road 33 

Leonard: {Returning to the too comfortaible chair.) 
As I have already said, your conduct is perfectly out- 
rageous. (He sinks into its depths.) 

Latimer: And as I have already said, you can't do 
moral indignation from that chair. Remember what 
happened to you last time. 

Leonard: Perfectly outrageous. {He drinks.) 

Latimer: Have another cigar? 

Leonard: I shall go to bed as soon as I have drunk 
this, {He drinks.) 

Latimer: You wouldn't care for a game of billiards 
first? 

Leonard: I am not in the mood for billiards. 

Latimer: By the way, we have another runaway 
couple here. But their week of probation is just over. 
They expect to leave tomorrow. 

Leonard: I am not interested in your earlier crimes. 

Latimer: I think you would be interested in this 
couple, Leonard. 

Leonard: I assure you I am not. 

Latimer: Ah! {Picking up a review and settling 
himself.) Very good article this month by Sidney 
Webb. You ought to read it. 

Leonard: I am not interested in Sidney Webb. 

Latimer: Breakfast is at ten o'clock. In here. 

Leonard: {Struggling out of his chair.) I shall 
eat it under protest. 

Latimer: You're off? Then I'll say good-night. 

{The two Footmen, Joseph and Jacob, have 
come in.) 



34 The Dover Road 

Leonard: (Stiffly.) Good-night. 

(He walks up to the door on the right. Jacob 
is in front of it. Leonard is pulled up at 
sight of him. Joseph indicates the door on 
the left.) 

Joseph: This way, my lord. 

Leonard: (Looking from one to the other.) Er — 
er — thank you. 

(He goes out. 

Mr. Latimer is alone with Sidney Webb.) 



ACT II. 

It is next morning. Eustasia, Leonard's wife, {who 
should be sitting patiently at home wondering 
when he will return) is having breakfast with a 
long-legged attractive young man called Nicholas. 
She is what people who talk like that call a "nice 
little thing" near enough to thirty to begin to wish 
it were twenty. At present she is making a good 
deal of fuss over this dear boy Nicholas. Break- 
fast is practically over. Nicholas in fact, is wip- 
ing his mouth. 

Eustasia: Finished, darling? 

Nicholas: Yes, thank you, Eustasia. 

Eustasia: A little more toast? 

Nicholas: No, thank you, Eustasia. 

Eustasia: Just a little tiny teen-weeny bit, if his 
Eustasia butters it for him ? 

Nicholas: No, thank you. I've really finished. 

Eustasia: Another cup of coffee? 

Nicholas: (With a sigh.) No, thank you, Eustasia. 

Eustasia: Just a little bit of a cup if his Eustasia 
pours it out for her own Nicholas, and puts the sugar 
in with her own ickle fingers? 

Nicholas: No more coffee, thank you. 

Eustasia: Then he shall sit in a more comfy chair 
while he smokes his nasty horrid pipe, which he loves 
so much better than his Eustasia. 

(He gets up without saying anything.) 

He doesn't really love it better? 

35 



36 The Dover Road 

Nicholas: (Laughing uneasily.) Of course he 
doesn't. 

Eustasia: Kiss her to show that he doesn't. 

Nicholas: You baby. {He kisses her hand.) 

Eustasia: And now give me your pipe. 

(He gives it to her reluctantly. 

She kisses it and gives it back to him. ) 

There ! And she doesn't really think it's a nasty horrid 
pipe, and she's ever so sorry she said so . . . Oh! 
(She sees a dish of apples suddenly.) 

Nicholas: What is it? 

Eustasia: Nicholas never had an apple! 

Nicholas: Oh no, thanks, I don't want one. 

Eustasia: Oh, but he must have an apple! It's so 
good for him. An apple a day keeps the doctor away. 
You must keep the doctor away, darling, else poor 
Eustasia will be miserable. 

Nicholas: (With an effort.) I've finished my 
breakfast. 

Eustasia: Not even if his Eustasia peels it for him? 

Nicholas: No, thank you. I assure you that I have 
had all I want. 

Eustasia : Sure ? 

Nicholas: Quite sure, thank you. Where are you 
going to sit ? 

Eustasia: (Indicating the sofa.) Nicholas sit there 
and Eustasia sit next to him. 

Nicholas: (Without much enthusiasm.) Right. 
(They sit down.) 

Eustasia: Shall Eustasia fill his pipe for him? 



The Dover Road 37 

Nicholas: No, thank you. I think I can do it my- 
self. {He nils it.) 

(They are silent for a little and at last he speaks 
uncomfortably.) 
Er — Eustasia. 

Eustasia: Yes, darling. 

Nicholas: We've been here a week. 

Eustasia: Yes, darling. A wonderful, wonderful 
week. And now today we leave this dear house where 
we have been so happy together, and go out into the 
world together 

Nicholas: (Who has not been listening to her.) 
A week. Except for the first day, we have had all our 
meals alone together. 

Eustasia: (Sentimentally.) Alone, Nicholas. 

Nicholas: Four meals a day — that's twenty-four 
meals. 

Eustasia: Twenty- four! 

Wct'olas: And at every one of those meals you 
have asked me at least four times to have something 
more when I had already said that I didn't want any- 
thing more ; or, in other words, you have forced me 
to say "No, thank you, Eustasia," ninety-six times 
when there was absolutely no need for it. 

Eusiasia: (Hurt.) Nicholas! 

Nicholas: (Inexorably.) We are both young. lam 
aventy six, you are 

Eustasia: (Hopefully.) Twenty-five. 

Nirholas: (Looking at her quickly and then away 
jatn.) You are twenty-five. If all goes well, we may 
look to have fifty years more together. Say two thou- 
sand iive hundred weeks. Multiply that by a hundred 
and we see that in the course of our joint lives, you 



38 The Dover Road 

will, at the present rate, force me to say "No, thank 
you, Eustasia" two hundred and fifty thousand times 
more than is necessary. 

{He relights his pipe.) 
Eustasia: {Pathetically.) Nicholas! {She applies 
her handkerchief. ) 

Nicholas: I wondered if we couldn't come to some 
arrangement about it. That's all. 

Eustasia: You're cruel! Cruel! {She sobs 
piteously. ) 

Nicholas: {Doggedly.) I just wondered if we 
couldn't come to some arrangement. 

Eustasia^: {Completely overcome.) Oh! Oh! 
Nicholas! My darling! 

{Nicholas, his hands clenched, looks grimly in 
front of him. He winces now and then at 
her sobs. He tries desperately hard not to 
give way, but in the end they are too much 
for him.) 
Nicholas: {Putting his arms round her.) Darling: 
Don't. 

{She goes on sobbing.) 
There! There! I'm sorry. Nicholas is sorry. • 
oughtn't to have said it. Forgive me, darlm. 

Eustasia: {Between sc^bs.) It's only because I lov; 
you so much, and w-want you to be well. .'^-'^^ vnu 
m-must eat. 

Nicholas: Yes, yes, Eustasia, I know. It is dejn 
of you. 

Eustasia: Ask any d-doctor. He would say yr. 
m-must eat. 

Nicholas: Yes, darling. 

Eustasia: You m-must eat. 



The Dover Road 39 

Nicholas f {Resignedly.) Yes, darling. 

Eustasia: {Sitting up and wiping her eyes.) What's 
a wife for, if' it isn't to look after her husband when 
he's ill, and to see that he eats? 

Nicholas: All right, dear, we won't say anything 
more about it. 

Eustasia: And when you had that horrid cold and 
were so ili, the first day after we came here, I did look 
after you, didn't I, Nicholas, and take care of you and 
make you well again? 

Nicholas. You did, dear. Don't think I am not 
grateful. You were very kind. {Wincing at the 
recollection.) Too kind. 

Eustasia: Not too kind, darling. I love looking 
after you, and doing things for you, and taking care 
of you, and cosseting you. {Thoughtfully to herself.) 
Leonard was never ill. 

Nicholas: Leonard? 

Eustasia: My husband. 

Nicholas: Oh! ... I'd never thought of him as 
Leonard I prefer not to think about him. I've never 
seen him, and I don't want to talk about him. 

Eustasia : No, darling. / don't want to either. 
Nic kolas: We've taken the plunge and — {Bravely) 
and we're not going back on it. 

Eu s'tasia : { Surprised. ) Darling ! 

Nicholas: As a man of honour I — Besides you can't 
go back now — I mean I took you away, and — Well 
■ re we are. {With determination.) Here we are. 

Eustasia: Darling, you aren't regretting? 
^^ichoIas: {Hastily.) No, no! 

{She takes out her handkerchief ominously.) 



40 The Dover Road 

No, no, no! 

(She begins to sob.) 

No! No! (He is almost shouting.) Eustasia, listen! 
I love you! I'm not regretting! I've never been so 
happy ! 

(She is sobbing tumultiioiisly.) 
So happy, Eustasia ! I have never never been so happy ! 
Cant you hear? 

Eustasia: (Throwing herself into his arms.) Dar- 
ling! 

Nicholas: There, there! 

Eustasia: (Drying her eyes.) Oh, Nicholas, you 
frightened me so! Just for a moment L was afraid 
you were regretting. 

Nicholas: No, no! 

Eustasia: How right Mr. Latimer wos' 
Nicholas: (With conviction.) He v^a- indeed. 
Eustasia: How little we really knew f c-ch other 
when you asked me to come away with 
Nicholas: How little! 

Eustasia: But this week has shown u; _• each other 
as we really are. 

Nicholas: It has. 

Eustasia: And now I feel absolutely safe. We are 
ready to face the world together, Nieh jlas. (She 
sighs and leans back happily in his arms : 

Nicholas: Ready to face the world toget'ner. (He 
has his pipe in his right hand, zuhich is round her waist. 
Her eyes are closed, her left hand, encircling his neck, 
holds his left hcnid. He tries to bend h' ^ nd down 
so as to get hold of his pipe with his tc Seiferal 

times he tries and just misses it. Each he pulls 



The Dover Road 41 

her a little closer to him, and she sighs happily. At 
last he gets hold of it. He learns hack with a gasp of 
relief. ) 

Eustasia: (Still with her eyes closed.) What is it, 
darling? 

Nicholas: Nothing Eustasia, nothing. Just hap- 
piness. 

(Mr. Latimer comes in.) 

Latimer: Good morning, my friends, good morning. 
(They move apart and Nicholas jumps up.) 

Nicholas: Oh, good morning. 

Eustasia: Good morning. 

Latimer: So you are leaving me this morning and 
going on your way ? 

Nicholas: (Without enthusiasm.) Yes. 

Eustasia: But we shall never forget this week, dear 
Mr. Latimer. 

Latimer: You have forgiven me for asking you to 
wait a little so as to make sure? 

Eustasia: Oh, but you were so right ! I was just 
saying so to Nicholas. Wasn't I, Nicholas ? 

Nicholas: Yes. About a minute ago. About two 
minutes ago. 

Latimer: And so now you are sure of yourselves? 
Eustasia: Oh, so sure, so very sure. Aren't we, 
Nicholas. 
Nicholas: Absolutely sure. 

Latimer: That's right. (Looking at his watch.) 
Well, I don't want to hurry you, but if you have any 
little things to do, the car will be here in half an 
hour, and 

Eustasia: Half an hour? Oh, I must fly. (She 
begins.) 



42 The Dover Road 

Nicholas: {Not moving.) Yes, we must fly. 

Latimer: {Going to the door with Eustasia.) By 
the way you will be interested to hear that I had two 
other visitors last night. 

Eustasia: {Stopping excitedly.) Mr. Latimer! 
You don't mean another — couple? 

Latimer: Yes, another romantic couple. 

Eustasia: Oh, if I could but see them before we go ! 
Just for a moment! Just to reconcile them to this 
week of probation! To tell them what a wonderful 
week it can be! 

Latimer: You shall. I promise you that you shall. 

Eustasia: Oh, thank you, dear Mr. Latimer! 

{He goes to the door with her. As he comes 
back, Nicholas is coming slowly towards 
him. ) 

Nicholas: I say. 

Latimer: Yes. 

Nicholas: {Thoughtfully.) I say, what would you 
— I mean — supposing — Because you see — I mean, it 
isn't as if — Of course, now — {He looks at his zvatch 
and finishes up sadly. ) Half an hour. Well, I suppose 
I must be getting ready. {He goes towards the door.) 

Latimer: {As he gets there.) Er — Nicholas. 

Nicholas: Yes? 

Latimer: Just a moment. 

Nicholas: {Coming back to him) \es? 

{Latimer takes him by the arm, and looh.'; 
round the room to see that they are alone.) 

Latimer: {In a loud whisper.) Cheer up! 



The Dover Road 43 

Nicholas : ( Excitedly. ) What ! 

{Latimer has let go of his arm and moved away, 
humming casuully to himself. The light dies 
out of Nicholas' eyes and he shrugs his shoul- 
ders despairingly.) 
Nicholas: {Without any hope.) Well, I'll go and 
get ready. 

{He goes out. 

Dominic comes in and begins to rearrange the 
breakfast tabic.) 
Latimer: Ah, good morning, Dominic. 
Dominic: Good morning, sir. A nicish morning 
it seems to be, sir. 

Latimer: A very nicish morning. I have great 
hopes of the world today. 

Dominic: I am very glad to hear it, sir. 
Latimer: We must all do what we can, Dominic. 
Dominic: That's the only way, isn't it, sir? 
Latimer: Great hopes, great hopes. 
Dominic. {Handing him "The Times.") The pa- 
per, sir. 

Latimer: Thank you. {He looks at the front 
page.) Anyone married this morning? Dear me, 
quite a lot. One, two, three, four . . . ten. Ten! 
Twenty happy people, Dominic! 
Dominic: Let us hope so, sir. 

Latimer: Let us hope so ... By the way, how 
was his lordship this morning? 
Domi}i'. A little depressed, sir. 
Latimer : Ah I 

Dominic: There seems to have been some misun- 
derstanding about his luggage. A little carelessness 
on the part of somebody, I imagine, sir. 



44 The Dover Road 

Latimer: Dear me! Didn't it come with him? 

Dominic: I'm afraid not, sir. 

Latimer: Tut, tut, how careless of somebody. 
Can't we lend him anything? 

Dominic: Joseph offered to lend him a comb, sir — 
his own comb — a birthday present last year, Joseph 
tells me. His lordship decided not to avail himself 
of the offer. 

Latimer: Very generous of Joseph, seeing that it 
was a birthday present. 

Dominic: Yes, sir. Unfortunately Joseph had come 
down to the last blade of his safety razor this morn- 
ing. His lordship is rather upset about the whole busi- 
ness, sir. 

Latimer: Well, well, I daresay a little breakfast 
will do him good. 

Dominic: Yes, sir. Are you ready for breakfast 
now, sir? 

{Anne comes in.) 

Latifiter: (Getting up and going down to her.) 
Good morning, Anne. May I hope that you slept well ! 

Anne: Very well, thank you. 

Latimer: I am so glad . . . All right, Dominic. 

Dominic: Thank you, sir. 
(He goes out.) 

Latimer: You are ready for breakfast? 

Anne: Quite ready. But what about Leonard? 

Latimer : Leonard ? 

Anne: I made sure that I was to have a practice 
breakfast with Leonard this morning. I have been 
thinking of a few things to say up in my room. 

Latimer: (Smiling.) Say them to me instead. 

^Anne: They are very wifely. (She sits down.) 



The Dover Road 45 

Latimer: But think what good practice. 

Anne: Very well. {At the cups.) Tea or coffee, 
darling ? 

Latimer: Oh, no, that will never do. You know 
by now that I always have coffee — half milk and three 
lumps of sugar. 

Anne. Of course, how silly of me. {She pours out 
the coffee.) 

Latimer: {Taking the covers off the dishes.) Ome- 
lette — fish — kidney and bacon ? 

Anne: Now you're forgetting. 

Latimer: {Putting back the covers.) No, I'm re- 
membering. Toast and marmalade — isn't that right? 
Anne: Quite right, dear. 

Latimer. {To himself.) I knew she would like 
marmalade. No wonder that Leonard ran away with 
her. {He puts the toast and marmalade close to her.) 

Anne: Your coffee, darling. 

Latimer: Thank you, my love . . . "My love" is 
very connubial, I think, 

Anne: Delightfully so. Do go on. 

Latimer: Er — I am sorry to see in the paper this 
morning — which I glanced at, my precious, before you 
came down — How do you like "My precious"? 

Anne: Wonderfully life-like. Are you sure you 
haven't been married before? 

Latimer: Only once. Eustasia. You had not for- 
gotten Eustasia? 

Anne: I am afraid I had. In fact, I had forgotten 
for the moment that you were being Leonard, 

Latimer: {Bowing.) Thank you. I could wish no 
better compliment. 



46 The Dover Road 

Anne: {Laughing in spite of herself.) Oh, you're 
too absurd. 

Latimer: {In Leonard's manner.') Of course I 
don't wish to say anything against Eustasia 

Anne: My dear Leonard, I really think we might 
leave your first wife out of it. 

Latimer: Yes, you want to get that off pat. You'll 
have to say that a good deal, I expect. Well, to re- 
sume. I am sorry to see in the paper this morning 
that Beelzebub, upon whom I laid my shirt for the 
2.30 race at Newmarket yesterday — and incidentally 
your shirt too, darling — came in last, some five min- 
utes after the others had finished the course 

Tut, tut, how annoying! 

Anne: Oh, my poor darling! 

Latimer: The word "poor" is well chosen. We are 
ruined. I shall have to work. 

Anne: You know what I want you to do, Leonard. 

Latimer: No, I have forgotten. 

Anne: {Seriously.) I should like to see you in the 
House of Lords, taking your rightful place as a leader 
of men, making great speeches. 

Latimer: My dear Anne! I may be a peer, but I 
am not a dashed politician. 

Anne: {Wistfully.) I Wish you were, Leonard. 

Latimer: I will be anything you like, Anne. {He 
leans towards her, half -serious, half -mocking.) 

Anne: {With a little laugh.) How absurd you are ! 
Some more coffee? 

Latimer: {Passing his cup.) To which I answer, 
"A little more milk. Do you realise that this goes 
on for fifty years ? 

Anne: Well, and why not? 



The Dover Road 47 

'Latimer: Fifty years. A solemn thought. But do 
not let it mar our pleasure in the meal that we are 
having together now. Let us continue to talk gaily 
together. Tell me of any interesting dream you may 
have had last night — any little adventure that befell 
you in the bath — any bright thought that occurred 
to you as you were dressing. 

Anne: (Thoughtfully.) I had a very odd dream 
last night. 

Latimer: I am longing to hear it, my love. 

Anne: I dreamt that you and I were running away 
together, and that we lost our way and came to what 
we thought was an hotel. But it was not an hotel. It 
was a very mysterious house, kept by a very mys- 
terious man called Mr. Latimer. 

Latimer: How very odd. Latimer? Latimer? No, 
I don't seem to have heard of the fellow. 

Anne: He told us that we were his prisoners. That 
we must stay in his house a week before we went on 
our way again. That all the doors were locked, and 
there were high walls round the garden, that the gates 
from the garden were locked, so that we could not 
escape, and that we must wait a week together in his 
house to see if we were really suited to each other. 

Latimer: My dear, what an extraordinary dream! 

Anne: It was only a dream, wasn't it? 

Latimer: Of course! What is there mysterious 
about the house ? What is there mysterious about this 
— er — Mr. Latimer? And as for anyone being kept 
prisoner — here — in this respectable England — why! 

Anne: It is absurd, isn't it? 

Latimer: Quite ridiculous. 



48 The Dover Road 

^Anne: {Getting up.) I thought it was, {She 
goes to the front door and opens it.) You see, I 
thought it was. {She steps out into the garden.) You 
see, the gates are open too! {She comes back.) What 
an absurd dream to have had! {She sits down 
again.) 

Latimer: There's no accounting for dreams. I had 
an absurd one too last night. 

Anne: What was it? 

Latimer: A lonely house. Father and daughter liv- 
ing together. Father, old, selfish, absorbed in his work. 
Daughter left to herself; her only companion, books; 
knowing nothing of the world. A man comes into 
her life; the first. He makes much of her. It is a 
new experience for the daughter. She is grateful to 
him, so grateful, so very proud that she means any- 
thing to him. He tells her when it is too late that he 
is married; talks of an impossible wife; tells her that 
she is his real mate. Let her come with him and see 
something of the world which she has never known. 

She comes Dear me, what silly things one 

dreams ! 

Anne: Absurd things When can we have 

the car ? 

Latimer: The car? 

Anne: Leonard's car. 

Latimer: You wish to continue the adventure? 

Anne: Why not? 

Latimer: Dear, dear! What a pity! {Looking at 
his watch.) In twenty-five minutes? 

Anne: That will do nicely, thank you. 

Latimer: We must let Leonard have a little break- 
fast first, if he is to cross the Channel today. {He 
gets up.) In twenty-five minutes then. 



The Dover Road 49 

Anne: {Half holding out her hand.) I shall see 
you again? 

Latimer: {Bending and kissing it.) If only to 
wish you God-speed. 

{She looks at him for a moment, and then turns 
and goes out. He looks after her for a little; 
then picks up his paper and settles with it in 
an arm-chair, his back to the breakfast table. 
Leonard comes in. He is in a dirty, rather 
disreputable, once white, bath-gown. His 
hair is unbrushed, his cheeks — the cheeks of 
a dark man — unsJimjed and blue. He has 
a horrible pair of bedroom slippers on his 
feet, above which, not only his socks, but 
almost a hint of pantaloons, may be seen on 
the way to the dressing-gown. He comes in 
nervously, and is greatly relieved to find that 
the breakfast table is empty. He does not 
notice Mr. Latimer. On his way tO' the table 
he stops at a mirror on the wall, and stand- 
ing in front of it, tries to persuade himself 
that his chin is not so bad after all. Then 
he pours himself out some coffee, helps him^ 
self to a kipper and falls to ravenously.) 

Latimer: Ah, good morning, Leonard. 

Leonard: {Starting violently and turning round.) 

Good Lord ! I didn't know you were there. 

Latimer: You were so hungry ... I trust you 
slept well. 

Leonard: Slept well! Of all the damned draughty 
rooms — Yes, and what about my luggage? 

Latimer: {Surprised.) Your luggage? 
Leonard: Yes, never put on the car, your fellow 
what's 'is name — Joseph says. 



50 The Dover Road 

Latimer: Dear me, we must enquire into this. Lost 
your luggage? Dear me, that's a very unfortunate 
start for a honeymoon. That means bad luck, Leonard. 
{Dominic comes in.) 

Dominic, what's this about his lordship's luggage? 

Dominic: Joseph tells me there must have been 
some misunderstanding about it, sir. A little care- 
lessness on the part of somebody, I imagine, sir. 

Latimer: Dear me! Didn't it come with him? 

Dominic: I'm afraid not, sir. 

Latimer: Tut, tut, how careless of somebody! 
Thank you, Dominic. 

Dominic: Thank you, sir. 
{He goes out.) 

La'timer: Lost your luggage. How excessively an- 
noying! (Anxiously.) My dear Leonard, what is it? 

Leonard: (Whose face has been shaping for it 
for some seconds.) A-tish-oo! 

Latitner: At any rate I can find you a handker- 
chief. (He does so.) 

(Leonard takes it just in time and sneezes 
violently again.) 

Leonard: Thank you. 

Latimer: Not at all. That's a very nasty cold 
you've got. How wise of you to have kept on a 
dressing-gown. 

Leonard: The only thing I had to put on. 

Latimer: But surely you were travelling in a suit 
yesterday? I seem to remember a brown suit. 

Leonard: That fool of a man of yours 

Latimer: (Distressed.) You don't mean to tell 

me 

(Dominic comes in.) 



The Dover Road 51 

Dominic, what's this about his lordship's brown 
suit? 

Dominic: Owing to a regrettable misunderstand- 
ing, sir, his lordship's luggage 

Latimer: Yes, but I'm not talking about his twenty- 
five other suits, I mean the nice brown suit that he 
was wearing yesterday. It must be somewhere. I re- 
member noticing it. I remember — {He holds up his 
hand.) Just a moment, Dominic 

Leonard: A-tish-00. 

Latimer: I remember saying to myself, "What a 
nice brown suit Leonard is wearing." Well, where is 
it, Dominic? 

Dominic: Yes, sir. I seem to remember the suit 
to which you are referring. I regret to say that 
Joseph had an unfortunate accident with it. 

Leonard: {Growling.) Damned carelessness. 

Dominic: Joseph was bringing back the clothes 
after brushing them, sir, and happened to have them 
in his arms while bending over the bath in order to 
test the temperature of the water for his lordship. 
A little surprised by the unexpected heat of the water, 
Joseph relinquished the clothes for a moment, and pre- 
cipitated them into the bath. 

Latimer: Dear me, how extremely careless of 
Joseph ! 

Dominic: Yes, sir, I have already reprimanded him. 

Leonard: The fellow ought to be shot. 

Latimer: You're quite right, Leonard. Dominic, 
shoot Joseph this morning. 

Dominic: Yes, sir. 

Latimer: And see that his lordship's suit is dried 
as soon as possible. 



52 The Dover Road 

Dominic: Yes, sir. It is being dried now, sir. 
Latimer: But it must be dried thoroughly, Dominic. 
His lordship has a nasty cold, and 

Leonard: A-tish-oo! 

Latimer: A very nasty one. I'm afraid you are 
subject to colds, Leonard? 

Leonard: The first one I've ever had in my life. 
{He sniffs.) 

Latimer: Do you hear that, Dominic? The first 
one he's ever had in his life. 

Dominic: Yes, sir. If you remember, sir, Mr. 
Nicholas, and one or two other gentlemen who have 
slept there, caught a very nasty cold. Almost looks 
as if there must be something the matter with the 
room. 

Leonard: Damned draughtiest room 

Latimer: Dear me! You should have told me of 
this before. We must have the room seen to at once. 
And be sure that his lordship has a different room to- 
night. 

Dominic: Yes, sir, thank you, sir. 
{He goes out.) 

Latimer: {Sympathetically.) My dear fellow, I 
am distressed beyond words. But you know the say- 
ing, "Feed a cold, starve a fever." You must eat, you 
must eat. {He pushes all the dishes round Leonard.) 
We must be firm with this cold. We must suffocate 
it. {Pressing more dishes upon him.) You were 
quite right not to shave. The protection offered by 
the beard though small is salutary. But I was for- 
getting — perhaps your razor is lost too? 

Leonard: Damned careless fellows! 

Latimer: I must lend you mine. 



The Dover Road 53 

Leonard: {Feeling his chin.) I say, I wish you 
would. 

Latimer: I will get it at once. Meanwhile, eat. 
No half measures with this cold of yours. My poor 
fellow ! 

{He hurries out. Leonard gets busy with his 

breakfast again. 
Enter Anne.) 

Anne: {Hurrying in.) Leonard, my dear! {She 
observes him more thoroughly.) My dear Leonard! 

Leonard: {His mouth full.) G'morning, Anne. 

Anne: {Coldly.) Good morning. 

Leonard: {Getting up, napkin in hand.) How are 
you this morning? {He comes towards her, imping 
his mouth.) 

Anne: No, please go on with your breakfast. {In 
alarm.) What is it? 

{His face assumes an agonised expression. He 
sneezes. 
Anne shudders.) 

Leonard: Got a nasty cold. Can't understand it. 
First I've ever had in my life. 

Anne: Do you sneeze like that much ? 

Leonard: Off and on, 

Anne: Oh! . . . Hadn't you better get on with 
your breakfast? 

Leonard: Well, I will if you don't mind. Good 
thing for a cold, isn't it? Eat a lot. 

Anne: I really know very little about colds . . . 
Do get on with your breakfast. 

Leonard: {Going back.) Well, I will if you don't 
mind. You had yours? 

Anne: Yes. 



54 The Dover Road 

Leonard: That's right. (Resuming it.) Did you 
have one o£ these kippers? 
Anne: No. 

Leonard: Ah! A pity. I will say that for Latimer's 
cook. She knows how to do a kipper. Much more 
difficult than people think. 

Anne: I really know very little about kippers. 

Leonard: I have often wondered why somebody 
doesn't invent one without bones. {He takes a mouth- 
ful.) Seeing what science can do nowadays — {He 
stops.) Anne's eye is on him,. He says nothing but 
waves his hand for her to look the other way. 

Anne: What is it? 

{He frowns fiercely and continues to wave. She 
says coldly.) 

I beg your pardon. {She turns avMy and he re- 
moves a mouthful of bones. ) 

Leonard: {Cheerfully.) Right oh, darling .... 
After all what do they want all these bones for ? Other 
fish manage without them. {He continues his kipper.) 

Anne: Leonard, when you can spare me a moment 
I should like to speak to you. 

Leonard: {Eating.) My darling, all my time is 
yours. 

Anne: I should like your individual attention if I 
can have it. 

Leonard: Fire away, darling, I'm listening. 

Anne: {Going up to him.) Have you finished 
your — kipper? {She takes the plate away.) What are 
you going to have next ? 

Leonard: Well — what do you recommend? 

Anne: {Taking off a cover.) Omelette? I don't 
think it has any bones. 



The Dover Road 55 

Leonard: What's in that other dish? 
{She takes off the cover.) 

Kidneys? What are the kidneys Hke? 

Anne: {Coldly.) Well, you can see what they 
look like. 

Leonard: Did you try one? 

Anne: {Impatiently.) They're delightful, I tried 
several. {She helps him.) There! Got the toast? 
Butter? Salt? What is it? 

Leonard: Pepper. 

Anne: Pepper — there. Now have you got every- 
thing? 

Leonard: Yes, thank you, my dear. {He picks up 
his knife and fork.) 

Anne: {Putting them down again.) Then before 
you actually begin, I have something I want to say 
to you. 

Leonard: You're very mysterious. What is it? 

Anne: There is nothing mysterious about it at all. 
It's perfectly plain and obvious. Only I do want you 
to grasp it. 

Leonard: Well? {He blows his nose.) {She 
waits for him to finish. ) 

Well? {He is still flourishing his handkerchief. 
She waits patiently. He puts it hack in his pocket.) 
Well? 

Anne: The car will be here in a quarter of an 
hour. 

Leonard: The car? 

Anne: The automobile. 

Leonard: But whose? 

Anne: Ours. More accurately, yours. 

Leonard: But what for? 



56 The Dover Road 

Anne: (Patiently.) We are running away to- 
gether, dear. You and I. It had slipped your memory 
perhaps, but I assure you it is a fact. The car will 
take us to Dover, and the boat will take us to Calais, 
and the train will take us to the South of France. 
You and I, dear. When you've finished your break- 
fast. 

Leonard: But what about Latimer? 

Anne: Just you and I, dear. Two of us only. The 
usual number. We shall not take Mr. Latimer. 

Leonard: My dear Anne, you seem quite to have 
forgotten that this confounded fellow Latimer has got 
us prisoners here until he chooses to let us go. {With 
dignity.) I have not forgotten. I eat his kidneys 
now, but he shall hear from me afterwards. Damned 
interference ! 

Anne: Have you been dreaming, Leonard? Be- 
fore all these kippers and kidneys and things? 

Leonard : Dreaming ? 

Anne: The car will be here in a quarter of an hour. 
Why not? It is your car. This is England; this is 
the twentieth century. We missed the boat and spent 
the night here. We go on our way this morning. Why 
not? 

Leonard: Well, you know, I said last night it was 
perfectly ridiculous for Latimer to talk that way. I 
mean what has it got to do with him? Just a bit of 
leg pulling — that's what I felt all the time. Stupid 
joke. {Picking up his knife and fork.) Bad taste 
too. 

Anne: You did hear what I said, didn't you? The 
car will be here in a quarter of an hour. I don't know 
how long it takes you to — {She glances him over) to 
shave, and — and dress properly, and — and brush your 



The Dover Road 57 

hair, but I fancy you ought to be thinking about it 
quite seriously. You can have some more kidneys an- 
other time, 

Leonard: B-but I can't possibly go like this. 

Anne: ' No, that's what I say, 

Leonard: I mean I haven't got any luggage for one 
thing — and, with a cold like this, I'm not at all sure 



Anne: You've lost your luggage? 

Leonard: Apparently it was left behind by 

Anne: {With anger.) You let yourself be tricked 
and humiliated by this Mr. Latimer, you let me be 
humiliated, and then when I say that, whatever hap- 
pens, I won't be humiliated, you — you lose your lug- 
gage! 

Leonard: I didn't lose it. It just happens to he 
lost, 

Anne: And you catch a cold! 

Leonard: I didn't catch it. It caught me. 

Anne: The — the humiliation of it! And 

what do you propose to do now? 

Leonard: As soon as my luggage turns up, and I 
am well enough to travel 



Anne: Meanwhile you accept this man's hos- 
pitality 

Leonard: Under protest. {Helping himself from 
the dish.) I shall keep a careful account of every- 
thing that we have here 

Anne: Well, that's your third kidney; you'd better 
make a note of it, 

Leonard: {With dignity.) As it happens I was 
helping myself to a trifle more bacon As I 



58 The Dover Road 

say, I shall keep a careful account, and send him a 
cheque for our board and lodging as soon as we have 
left his roof. 

Anne: Oh! ... I had some coffee and one slice 
of toast and a little marmalade. About a spoonful. 
And a cup of tea and two thin slices of bread and but- 
ter upstairs. Oh, and I've had two baths. They're 
extra, aren't they? A hot one last night and a cold 
one this morning. I think that's all. Except supper 
last night, and you wouldn't let me finish that, so I 

expect there'll be a reduction You want a 

note book with one of those little pencils in it. 

Leonard: {Reproachfully.) I say, Anne, look 
here 

Anne: Do go on with your breakfast. 

Leonard: You're being awfully unfair. How can 
we possibly go now? Why, I haven't even got a pair 
of trousers to put on. 

Anne: You're not going to say you've lost those 
too! 

Leonard: (Sulkily.) It's not my fault. That fel- 
low — What's 'is name 

Anne: {Wonderingly.) What made you ever 
think that you could take anybody to the South of 

France? Without any practice at all? If you 

had been taking an aunt to Hammersmith — well, you 
might have lost a bus or two .... and your hat 
might have blown off and you would prob- 
ably have found yourselves at Hampstead the first two 
or three times .... and your aunt would have 
stood up the whole way .... but still you might 
have got there eventually. I mean, it would be worth 
trying — if your aunt was very anxious to get to Ham- 
mersmith. But the South of France! My dear 
Leonard! It's so audacious of you. 



The Dover Road 59 

Leonard: (Annoyed.) Now, look here, Anne- 



(Mr. Latimer comes in cheerily with shainng- 
pot, brush, safety ro'zor and towel.) 

Latimer: Now then, Leonard, we'll soon have you 
all right. {He puts the things down.) Ah, Anne! 
You don't mind waiting while Leonard has a shave? 
He wanted to grow a special beard for the Continent 
but I persuaded him not to. The French accent will 
be quite enough. {Picking up the razor.) Do you 
mind Wednesday's blade? I used Tuesday's myself 
this morning. 

Anne: Oh, Mr. Latimer, I find that we shall not 
want the car after all. 

Latimer: No? 

Anne: No. Poor Leonard is hardly well enough 
to travel. I hope that by tomorrow, perhaps — But I 
am afraid that we must trespass on your hospitality 
until then. I am so sorry. 

Latimer: But I am charmed to have you. Let me 
tell your maid to unpack. 

Anne: Don't trouble, thanks. I've got to take my 
hat off. {Very sweetly for Latimer's heneUt.) I 
shan't be a moment, Leonard darling. 
{She goes out.) 

Latimer: Now then, Leonard darling, to work. 

Leonard: {Picking up the things.) Thanks. 

Latimer. But where are you going? 

Leonard: Upstairs, of course. 

Latimer: Is that wise? With a cold like yours? 

Leonard: Damn it, I can't shave down here. 

Latimer: Oh, come, we mustn't stand on ceremony 
when your life is at stake. You were complaining 
only five minutes ago of the draught in your room. 
Now, here we have a nice even temperature 



6o The Dover Road 

Leonard: Well, there's something- in that. 

Latimer: There's everything in it. Of course 
you've never had a cold before, so you don't know, but 
any doctor will tell you how important it is to stay in 
one room — with a nice even temperature. You mustn't 
dream of going upstairs. 

Leonard: (Surrendering.) Well 

Latimer: That's right. Got everything you want? 

There are plenty of mirrors. Which period do you 

prefer? Queen Anne? 

Leonard: It's all right, thanks. 

Latimer: Good. Then I'll leave you to it. 

(He goes out. Standing in front of a glass on 
the wall, Leonard applies the soap. His 
cheeks are just getting beautifully creamy 
when Nicholas enters.) 

Nicholas: Hallo! 

Leonard: (Looking round.) Hallo! 

Nicholas: Shaving? 

Leonard: (Exasperated.) Well, what the devil 
did you think I was doing? 

Nicholas: Shaving. (He sits down. Leonard gets 
on with the good work.) 

Leonard : A-tish-oo ! 

Nicholas: Got a cold? 

Leonard: Obviously. 

Nicholas: (Sympathetically.) Horrid, sneezing 
when you're all covered with soap. 

Leonard: Look here, I didn't ask for your com- 
pany, and I don't want your comments. 

Nicholas: Well, if it comes to that, I was here first, 
and I didn't ask you to shave in this hall. 



The Dover Road 6i 

Leonard: (With dignity.) There are reasons why 
it is necessary for me to shave in the hall. 

Nicholas: Don't bother to tell me. I know 'em. 

Leonard: What do you mean? 

Nicholas: You're the couple that arrived last night. 

Leonard: (Looking at him, thought f idly.) And 
you're the couple that is leaving this morning. 

Nicholas: Exactly. 

Leonard: Yes, but I don't see 

Nicholas: You haven't tumbled to it yet? 

Leonard: Tumbled to what? 

Nicholas: The fact that a week ago there were 
reasons why it was necessary for me to shave in the 
hall. 

Leonard: You! .... You don't mean 

Nicholas: Yes, I do. 

Leonard: You lost your luggage? 

Nicholas: Yes. 

Leonard: You woke up with a cold? 

Nicholas: Yes .... Horrid, sneezing when you're 
all covered with soap. 

Leonard: (Exactly.) I say, that fellow — what's 
'is name — didn't drop your clothes in the bath? 

Nicholas: Oh, rather . . . Damned smart chap, 
Latimer. 

Leonard: Damned scoundrel. 

Nicholas: Oh, no. He's quite right. One learns 
a lot down here. 

Leonard: I shall leave his house at once 

as soon as I have shaved. 

Nicholas: You still want to? 

(Leonard looks at him in surprise.) 



62 The Dover Road 

Oh, well, you've hardly been here long enough, I 
suppose. 

Leonard: What do you mean? Don't you want to 
any more? 

Nicholas: Latimer's quite right, you know. One 
learns a lot down here. 

Leonard: {Shaving). What about the lady? 

Nicholas: That's the devil of it. 

Leonard: My dear fellow, as a man of honour, 
you're bound to go on. 

Nicholas: As a man of honour, ought I ever to 
have started? 

Leonard: Naturally I can't give an opinion on that. 

Nicholas: No You want to be careful 

with that glass. The light isn't too good. I should 
go over it all again. 

Leonard: (Stiffly.) Thank you. I am accustomed 
to shaving myself. 

Nicholas: I was just offering a little expert ad- 
vice. You needn't take it. 

Leonard: (Surveying himself doubtfully.) H'm, 
perhaps you're right. (He lathers himself again. In 
the middle of it he stops and says. ) Curious creatures, 
women. 

Nicholas: Amazing. 

Leonard: It's a life's work in itself trying to un- 
derstand 'em. And then you're no further. 

Nicholas: A week told me all I wanted to know. 

Leonard: They're so unexpected. 

Nicholas: So unreasonable. 

Leonard: What was it the poet said about them? 

Nicholas: What didn't he say? 



The Dover Road 63 

Leonard: No, you know the one I mean. How 
does it begin ? . . . *'0 woman, in our hours of 

ease " 

Nicholas: "Uncertain, coy and hard to please." 
Leonard: That's it. Well, I grant you that- 



Nicholas: Grant it me! I should think you do! 
They throw it at you with both hands. 

Leonard: But in the next two lines he misses the 
point altogether. When — what is it? — "when pain and 
anguish wring the brow" 

Nicholas: (With feeling.) "A ministering angel 
thou." 

Leonard: Yes, and it's a lie. It's simply a lie, 

Nicholas: My dear fellow, it's the truest thing any- 
body ever said. Only — only one gets too much of it. 

Leonard: True? Nonsense. 

Nicholas: Evidently you don't know anything 
about women. 

Leonard: {Indignantly.) I! Not know anything 
about women! 

Nicholas: Well, you said yourself just now that 
you didn't. 

Leonard: I never said — what I said 

Nicholas: If you did know anything about 'em, 
you'd know that there's nothing they like more than 
doing the ministering angel business. 

Leonard: Ministering angel ! 

Nicholas: Won't you have a little more of this, 
and won't you have a little more of that, and how is 
the poor cold today, and 

Leonard: You really think that women talk like 
that? 

Nicholas: How else do you think they talk? 



64 The Dover Road 

Leonard: My dear fellow! .... Why, I mean, 
just take my own case as an example. Here am I, 
with a very nasty cold, the first I've ever had in my 
life. I sit down for a bit of breakfast — not wanting 
it particularly, but feeling that, for the sake of my 
health, I ought to try and eat something. And what 
happens ? 

(Latimer has come in during this speech. He 
stops and listens to it.) 

Latimer: (Trying to guess the answer.) You eat 
too much. 

Leonard: (Turning round angrily.) Ah, so it's 
you! You have come just in time, Mr. Latimer. I 
propose to leave your house at once. 

Latimer: (Surprised.) Not like that? Not with 
a little bit of soap behind the ear? 
(Leonard hastily wipes it.) 

The other ear. 

(Leonard wipes that one.) 

That's right. 

Leonard: At once, sir. 

Nicholas: You'd better come with us. We're just 
going. 

Leonard: Thank you. 

Latimer: Four of you. A nice little part} . 
(Anne comes in.) 

Leonard: Anne, my dear, we are leaving the house 
at once. Are you ready ? 

Anne: (Looking from one to the other in surprise.) 
But I've just taken my hat off. Besides, you can't 
go like that. 

(Leonard hastily wipes his ear again.) 

Latimer: No, no, she means the costume this time. 



The Dover Road 65 

Leonard: Mr. Latimer, I insist on having my 
clothes restored to me. 

Laiimer: Wet or dry, you shall have them. 

Anne: But 

Eustasia: {Front outside.) Nich-o-las! 
(Leonard looks up in astonishment.) 

Nicholas : ( Gloomily. ) Hallo ! 

Eustasia: Where are you? 

Nicholas: Here! 

(Eustasia comes in.) 

Eustasia: Are you ready, darling? (She stops on 
seeing them ail, and looks from one to the other. She 
sees her husband.) Leonard! 

Nicholas: (Understanding.) Leonard! 

Leonard: Eustasia! 

Anne: Eustasia! 

(They stare at each other — open-mouthed — all 
hut Mr. Latimer. His eyes on the ceiling, 
whistling a little tune to himself. Mr. Lati- 
mer walks — almost, you might say, dances — 
up and down, up and down behind them, "I 
did this!" he is saying to himself, "I did it!") 



ACT III 

SCENE I 

We are just where we were — except that Mr. Latimer 
has stopped his dance, and is regarding his visitors 
benevolently. Their mouths are now closed, but 
they have not said anything yet. 

Anne: (Impatiently.) Oh, isn't anybody going to 
say anything? Mr. Latimer, while Leonard is think- 
ing of something, you might introduce me to his wife. 

Latimer: I beg your pardon, Eustasia, this is Anne. 

Anne: How do you do? 

Eustasia: How do you do? 

Latimer: Leonard, this is Nicholas. 

Nicholas: (Nodding.) We've met. Quite old 
friends. 

Leonard: I repudiate the friendship. We met un- 
der false pretences. I — I — Well, upon my word, I 
don't know what to say. 

Nicholas: Then don't say it, old boy. Here we all 
are, and we've got to make the best of it. 

Leonard: I — I — a-tish-oo! 

Eustasia: (Alarmed.) Leonard, you have a cold? 

Nicholas: A very nasty cold. 

Anne: (Coldly.) It will be better when he has 
finished his breakfast. 

Leonard: (Hurt.) I have finished my breakfast. 

A long time ago. 

66 



The Dover Road (yj 

Anne: I beg your pardon. {She indicates the towel 
round his neck.) I misunderstood. 

Leonard: {Pulling it away.) I've been shaving. 

Eustasia: But, Leonard dear, I don't understand. 
I've never known you ill before. 

Leonard: I never have been ill before. But I am 
ill now. Very ill. And nobody minds. Nobody 
minds at all. This fellow Latimer invaygles me here — 

Latimer: Inveegles. 

Leonard: I shall pronounce it how I like. It is 
quite time I asserted myself. I have been too patient. 
You invaygle me here and purposely give me a cold. 
You — {pointing accusingly to Anne) — are entirely 
unmoved by my sufferings, instead of which you make 
fun of the very simple breakfast which I had forced 
myself to eat. You — {to Nicholas) run away with 
my wife, at a time when I am ill and unable to pro- 
tect her, and you — {to Eustasia) — well, all I can say 
is that you surprise me, Eustasia, you surprise me. I 
didn't think you had it in you. 

Latimer: A masterly summing up of the case. 
Well, I hope you're all ashamed of yourselves. 

Eustasia: But, Leonard, how rash of you to think 
of running away with a cold like this. {She goes up 
and comforts him.) You must take care of yourself — 
Eustasia will take care of you and get you well. Poor 
boy! He had a nasty, nasty cold, and nobody looked 
after him. Mr. Latimer, I shall want some mustard, 
and hot water, and eucalyptus. 

Latimer: But of course! 

Leonard: {To Anne.) There you are! As soon 
as somebody who really understands illness comes on 



68 The Dover Road 

the scene, you see what happens. Mustard, hot water, 
eucalyptus — she has it all at her finger ends, 
{Enter Dominic.) 
Dominic: Yes, sir? 

Latimer: A small mustard and water for his lord- 
ship. 

Eustasia: It's to put his feet in, not to drink. 

Latimer: A large mustard and water. 

Dominic: Yes, sir. 

Eustasia: Hot water. 

Dominic: Yes, my lady. 

Eustasia: And if you have any eucalyptus 

Dominic: Yes, my lady, we got some in specially 
for his lordship. 

Latimer: Did Mr. Nicholas absorb all the last 
bottle ? 

Dominic: Yes, sir. 

Nicholas: (With feeling.) I fairly lived on it. 

Dominic: (To Eustaisia.) Is there anything else 
his lordship will require ? 

Nicholas: What about a mustard-plaster? 

Leonard: Please mind your own business. 

Eustasia': No, I don't think there's anything else, 
thank you. 

Nicholas: Well, I call that very unfair. I had one. 

Leonard: Oh, did you? Well, in that case, 
Eustasia, I certainly don't see why 

Latimer: (To Dominic.) Two mustard-plasters. 
We mustn't grudge his lordship anything. 

Dominic: Yes, sir. 
(He retires.) 



The Dover Road 69 

Eustasia: {To Leonard.) Now come over here, 
darling, away from the door. {She leads him to an 
armchair in the corner of the room.) Lean on me. 

'Anne: Surely one can walk with a cold in the head ! 

Nicholas: No, it's very dangerous. 

Latimer: Nicholas speaks as an expert. 

Eustasia: {Settling Leonard.) There! Is that 
comfy? 

Leonard: Thank you, Eustasia. 

Eustasia: We'll soon have you all right, dear. 

Leonard: {Pressing her hand.) Thank you. 

Latimer: {After a little silence.) Well, as Nicholas 
said just now, "Here we all are and we've got to 
make the best of it." What are we all going to do? 

Anne: Please leave me out of it. I can make my 
own arrangements. {She gives them a cool little bow 
as she goes out.) If you will excuse me. 

{Dominic comes in with a clinical thermometer 
on a tray.) 

Dominic: I thought that her ladyship might re- 
quire a thermometer for his lordship's temperature. 

Eustasia: {Coming to him.) Thank you. I think 
it would be safer just to take it. And I wondered if 
we couldn't just put this screen round his lordship's 
chair. 

Dominic: Certainly, my lady, one can't be too care- 
ful. {He helps her with it.) 

Eustasia: Yes, that's right. 

Latimer: {To Nicholas.) Did you have the 
screen ? 

Nicholas: Oh, rather. 

'Latimer: And the thermometer? 



70 The Dover Road 

Nicholas: Yes Funny thing was I liked 

it just at first. I don't mean the actual thermometer, 
I mean all the fussing. 

Latimer: It's a wonderful invention, a cold in the 
head. It finds you out. There's nothing like it, 
Nicholas, nothing. 

Eustasia: (To Dominic.) Thank you. And you're 
briiiging the other things? 

Dominic: Yes, my lady, as soon as ready. 

(He goes out.) 

Eustasia: Thank you. (To Leonard.) Now, dear. 
Under the tongue. (She puts it in his mouth.) 

Leonard: (Mumibling.) I don't think I ever 

Eustasia: No, dear, don't try to talk. (She takes 
out her watch.) 

Nicholas: (Coming close to Latimer.) I say 

Latimer: Well? 

Nicholas: (Indicating the screen.) I say, not too 
loud. 

Latimer: (In a whisper.) Well? 

Nicholas: Well, what about it? 

Latimer : What about what ? 

Nicholas: I mean, where do I come in? As a man 

of honour oughtn't I to — er You see what I 

mean? Of course I want to do the right thing. 

Latimer: Naturally, my dear Nicholas. It's what 
one expected of you. 

Nicholas: I thought that if I slipped away now, un- 
ostentatiously 

Latimer: With just a parting word of farewell 



The Dover Road 71 

Nicholas: Well, that was what I was v/ondering. 
Would anything in the nature of a farewell be in good 
taste ? 

Latimer: I see your point, 

Nicholas: Don't think that I'm not just as devoted 
to Eustasia as ever I was. 

Latimer: But you feel that in the circumstances 
you could worship her from afar with more propriety. 

Nicholas: (Waving a hand at the screen.) Yes. 
You see, I had no idea that they were so devoted. 
Latimer: But their devotion may not last forever. 

Nicholas: Exactly. That's why I thought I'd slip 
away now. 

Latimer: Oh, Nicholas! Oh, Nicholas! 

Nicholas: (A little offended.) Well, I don't want 
to say anything against Eustasia 

Latimer: There are so many people who don't want 
to say anything against Eustasia. 

Nicholas: But, you see Look out, here's Miss 

Anne. 

{Anne comes in.) 

Latimer: Anne, you're just in time. Nicholas 
wants your advice. 

Nicholas: I say, shut up! We can't very well 

Anne: Mr. Latimer, I went upstairs to get my 
things and find my way to the nearest railway station. 
But — but there is a reason why I am not going after 
all. Just yet. I thought I'd better tell you. 

Latimer: Were you really thinking of going? 
{She nods.) I'm so glad you've changed your mind. 

Anne: {With a smile.) There are reasons why I 
had to. 



y2 The Dover Road 

Latimer: Bless them Nicholas, I believe 

she stayed just so that she might help you. 

Anne: What does Mr. Nicholas want? 

Nicholas: I say, it's awfully good of you and all 
that, but this is rather — I mean, it's a question that a 
fellow ought to settle for himself. 

Latimer: What he means is, ought he to get his 
things and find his way to the nearest railway station ? 

Anne: (Dismayed.) Oh, no! 

Latimer: There you are, Nicholas. 

Nicholas: (Rather flattered.) Oh, well — well — 
(He looks at her admiringly.) Well, perhaps you're 
right. 

Eustasia: (The three minutes up.) There! (She 
takes the thermometer out mid comes from behind the 
screen in order to get nearer the light.) 

Latimer: His temperature! This is an exciting 
moment in the history of the House of Lords. (He 
follows Eustasia to the window.) 

Nicholas: (To' Anne.) I say, do you really think 
I ought to stay? 

Anne: Please, Mr. Nicholas, I want you to stay. 

Nicholas: Righto, then I'll stay. 

Latimer: (Over Eustasia' s shoulder.) A hundred 
and nine, 

Leonard: (Putting his head round the screen.) I 
say, what ought it to be? 

Nicholas: Ninety-eight. 

Leonard: Good Lord, I'm dying! 

Eustasia: It's just ninety-nine. A little over nor- 
mal, Leonard, but nothing to matter. 

Latimer: Ninety-nine — so it is. I should never 
have forgiven myself if it had been a hundred and 
nine. 



The Dover Road 73 

Nicholas: (Coming up to Latimer.) It's all right, 
I'm going to. 

Eustasia: (Surprised.) Going to? Going to 
what ? 

Nicholas: (Confused.) Oh, nothing. 

Latimer: What he means is that he is going to be 
firm. He thinks we all ought to have a little talk about 
things. Just to see where we are. 

Eustasia: Well, things aren't quite as they were, 
are they? If I'd known that Leonard was ill — but I've 
seen so little of him lately. And he's never been ill 
before ! 

Nicholas: Of course we ought to know where we 
are. 

Latimer: Yes. At present Leonard is behind that 
screen, which makes it difficult to discuss things prop- 
erly. Leonard, could you 

Eustasia: Oh, we mustn't take any risks. But if 
we moved the screen a little, and all sat up at that end 
of the room 

Latimer: Delightful! 

Nicholas: (Leading the ivay.) Sit here, Miss 
Anne, won't you? 

(They arrange themselves. Latimer in the 
middle. ) 
Latirner: There! Now are we all here? .... 
We are. Then with your permission, Ladies and Gen- 
tlemen, I will open the proceedings with a short 
speech. 

Nicholas: Oh, I say, must you? 

Latimer: Certainly. 

Eustasia: (To Leonard.) Hush, dear. 

Leonard: I didn't say anything. 



74 The Dover Road 

Eustaisia: No, but you were just going to. 

Latimer: (Severely.) Seeing that I refrained 
from making my speech when Leonard had the ther- 
mometer in his mouth, the least he can do now is to 
listen in silence. 

Leonard: Well, I'm 

Latimer: I resume .... By a fortunate con- 
catenation of circumstances, ladies and gentlemen — or, 
as more illiterate men would say, by a bit of luck — 
two runaway couples have met under my roof. No 
need to mention names. You can all guess for your- 
selves. But I call now — this is the end of my speech, 
Leonard — I call now upon my noble friend on the 
right to tell us just why he left the devoted wife by 
his side in order to travel upon the Continent. 

Leonard: Well, really 

Latimer: Naturally Leonard does not wish to say 
anything against Eustasia. Very creditable to him. 
But can it be that the devoted wife by his side wishes 
to say anything against Leonard? 

Eustasia: You neglected me, Leonard, you know 
you did. And when I was so ill 

Leonard: My dear, you were always ill. That was 
the trouble. 

Latimer: And you were never ill, Leonard. That 
was the trouble .... You heartless ruffian! 

Eustasia: (To Leonard.) Hush, dear. 

Latimer: Why couldn't you have had a cold some- 
times? Why couldn't you have come home with a 
broken leg, or lost your money, or made a rotten 
speech in the House of Lords? If she could never be 
sorry for you, for whom else could she be sorry, ex- 
cept herself? (To Eustasia.) I don't suppose he even 
lost his umbrella^ did he? 



The Dover Road 75' 

Anne: Oh, he must have lost that. 

Latimer: Eustasia, ladies and gentlemen, Is one of 
those dear women, those sweet women, those delight- 
ful women — (Aside to Anne) — stop me if I'm laying 
it on too thick — those adorable women who must al- 
ways cosset or be cosseted. She couldn't cosset 
Leonard ; Leonard wouldn't cosset her. Hence — the 
Dover Road. 

Eustasia: How well you understand, Mr. Latimer! 

Latimer: Enter, then, my friend Nicholas. (Shak- 
ing his head at him.) Oh, Nicholas! Oh, Nicholas i 
Oh, Nicholas! 

Nicholas: (Uneasily.) What's all that about? 

Latimer: Anything you say will be used in evi- 
dence against you. Proceed, my young friend. 

Nicholas: Well — well — well, I mean, there she was. 

Latimer: Lonely. 

Nicholas: Exactly. 

Latimer: Neglected by her brute of a husband — 
(As Leonard opens his month) fingers crossed, 
Leonard — who spent day and night rioting in the 
House of Lords while his poor little wife cried at 
home. 

Nicholas: Well 

Latimer: Then out spake bold Sir Nicholas — ■ 
(Aside to Anne.) This was also composed in my 

bath 

Then out spake bold Sir Nicholas, 

An Oxford man was he: 
"Lo, I will write a note tonight 
And ask her out to tea." 

Nicholas: Well, you see — 

Latimer: I see, Nicholas .... And so here we all 
are. 



76 The Dover Road 

Anne: Except me. 

Latimer: I guessed at you, Anne. Did I guess 
right ? 

Anne: Yes. 

Latimer: And so here we all are .... And what 
are we all going to do? My house is at your disposal 
for as long as you wish. The doors are open for those 
who wish to go ... . Eustasia? 

Eustasia: My duty is to stay here — to look after 
my husband. 

Latimer: Well, that settles Eustasia .... Anne? 

Anne: Of necessity I must stay here — for the 
present. 

Latimer: Well, that settles Anne .... Nicholas? 

Nicholas: I stay here too — {Looking at Anne) 
from choice. 

Latimer: Well, that settles Nicholas .... 
Leonard ? 

(Dominic, followed by all the Staff, comes in, 
together with a collection of mustard-baths, 
plasters, eucalyptus, etc., etc.) 

Latimer: (Looking round at the interruption.) 
Ah! .... And this will settle Leonard. 



SCENE II 

Three days later, and evening again. Anne is busy 
with a> pencil and paper, an A. B. C. and her purse. 
She is trying to work out how much it costs to go 
home, and subtracting three and four pence 
ha'penny from it. Having done this, she puts the 



The Dover Road "j"] 

paper, pencil and purse in her hag, returns the 
A. B. C. to its home, and goes towards the door. 
One gathers that she has come to a decision. 

Anne: (Calling.) Nich-o-las! 

Nicholas: (From outside.) Hallo! 

Anne : Where — are — you ? 

Nicholas: Coming. (He comes.) Just went up- 
stairs to get a pipe. (Putting his hand to his pocket.) 
And now I've forgotten it. 

( They go to the sofa together. ) 

Anne: Oh, Nicholas, how silly you are! (She sits 
down.) 

Nicholas: (Sitting close.) I don't want to smoke, 
you know. 

Anne: I thought men always did. 

Nicholas: Well, it depends what they're doing. 

(There is no doubt what he is doing. He is 
making love to Anne, the dog, and Anne is 
encouraging him.) 

Anne: (Looking away.) Oh! 

Nicholas: I say, it has been rather jolly here thr 
last three days, don't you think? 

Anne: It has been rather nice. 

Nicholas: We've sort of got so friendly. 

Anne: We have, haven't we? 

Nicholas: You've been awfully nice to me. 

Anne: You've been nice to me. 

Nicholas: I should have gone, you know, if it 
hadn't been for you. 

Anne: I don't know zvhat I should have done if 
you had gone. 

Nicholas: You did ask me to stay, didn't you? 



^8 The Dover Road 

Anne: Yes, I couldn't let you go. 
Nicholas: Do you know what you said? You said, 
"Please, Mr. Nicholas, I want you to stay." I shall 
always remember that. {Fatuously to himself.) 
"Please, Mr. Nicholas, I want you to stay." I won- 
der what made you think of saying that. 

Anne: I wanted us to be friends. I wanted to get 
to know you; to make you think of me as — as your 
friend. 

Nicholas: We are friends, Anne, aren't we? 
Anne: I think we are now, Nicholas. 
Nicholas: {With a sentimental sigh.) Friends! 
{Anne looks at him, wondering if she shall risk 
it; then azmy again; then summons up her 
courage and takes the plunge.) 
Anne: Nicholas! 
Nicholas: Yes? 

Anne: {Timidly.) I — I want you to do something 
for me. 

Nicholas: Anything, Anne, anything. 

Anne: I don't know whether I ought to ask you. 

Nicholas: Of course you ought! 

Anne: But you see, we are friends — almost like 

brother and sister 

Nicholas: {Disappointed.) Well, I shouldn't put 

it quite like that 

Anne: And I thought I might ask you 

Nicholas: Of course, Anne! You know I would do 
anything for you. 

Anne: Yes .... Well — well — {In a rush) Well, 
then, will you lend me one pound two and sixpence 
till next Monday? 

Nicholas: Lend you ! 



The Dover Road 79 

'Anne: Today's Friday, I'll send you the money off 
on Sunday. I promise. Of course I know one oughtn't 
to borrow from men, but you're different. Almost 
like a brother. I knew you would understand. 

Nicholas: But — but — I don't understand. 

Anne: (Ashamed.) You see, I — I only have three 
and fourpence ha'penny. And it costs one pound five 
and twopence to get home. (Indignantly.) Oh, it's 
a shame the way men always pay for us, and then when 
we really want money, we haven't got any .... But I 
will pay you back on Sunday. I have some money at 
home, I meant to have brought it. 

Nicholas: But — but why do you suddenly 

Amte: Suddenly? I've been wanting it ever since 
that first morning. I went upstairs to get my hat, 
meaning to walk straight out of the house — and then 
I looked in my purse and found — (Pathetically) three 
and fourpence ha'penny. What was I to do? 

Nicholas: Anyone would have lent you anything. 

Anne: (Coldly). Leonard, for instance? 

Nicholas: (Thoughtfidly.) Well . . . . no . . . 
No. You couldn't very well have touched Leonard. 
But Latimer 

Anne: Mr. Latimer! The man who had brought 
us here, locked us up here, and started playing Provi- 
dence to us — I was to go on my knees to him and say 
"Please, dear Mr. Latimer, could you lend me one 
pound two and sixpence, so that I may run away from 
your horrid house." Really! 

Nicholas: Well, you seem to have been pretty 
friendly with him these three days. 

Anne: Naturally I am polite to a man when I am 
staying in his house. That's a different thing. 



8o The Dover Road 

Nicholas: As a matter of fact, Latimer has been 
jolly decent. Anyway, he has saved us both from mak- 
ing silly asses of ourselves. 

Anne: And you think I am grateful to him for 
that ? . . . . Doesn't any man understand any woman ? 

Nicholas: (Annoyed.) Are you suggesting that / 
don't understand women? 

Anne: I'm suggesting that you should lend me one 
pound two shillings and sixpence. 

Nicholas: (Sulkily, feeling in his pockets.) Of 
course, if you're in such a confounded hurry to get 
away from here Do you mind all silver? 

Anne: Not at all. 

Nicholas: In such a confounded hurry to get away 
from here — (He counts the money.) 

Anne: Why ever should I want to stay? 

Nicholas: Well — well — (With a despairing shrug.) 
Oh, Lord! . . . Ten shillings . . . fourteen and six 
. . . why should she want to stay! Why do you 
think I'm staying? 

Anne: Because you're so fond of Mr. Latimer. 
He's so jolly decent. 

Nicholas: (Looking at the money in his hand.) 
One pound two shillings and sixpence. I suppose if I 
told you what I really thought about it all, you'd get 
on your high horse again and refuse the money from 
me. So I won't tell you. Here you are. 

Anne: (Gently.) You didn't think I was in love 
with you, Nicholas? 

(Nicholas looks uncomfortaible.) 

In three days? Oh, Nicholas! 

Nicholas: Well — well, I don't see — (Holding out 
the money.) 



The Dover Road 8i 

Anne: From a friend? 
Nicholas: From a friend. 
Anne: Lent to a friend? 
Nicholas: Lent to a friend. 

Anne: (Taking it.) Thank you, Nicholas. (She 
g^tsjip: He begins to get up too.) No, don't bother. 
(She walks to the door. At the door she says.) Thank 
you very much, Nicholas. (She goes out.) 
Nicholas: Well, Fm damned! 

(He sits there gloomily, his legs stretched out, 
and regards his shoes. So far as zve can tell 
he goes on saying, "Well, I'm damned," to 
himself. Eustasia and Leonard come in. He 
is properly dressed now, but still under 
Eiistasia's care, and she has his arm, as if he 
zvcre attempting a very difficidt feat in walk- 
ing across the hall. ) 
Nicholas: (Looking round.) Hallo! (Getting 
up.) Do you want to come here? 

Leonard: (Hastily.) Don't go, old boy, don't go. 
Plenty of room for us all. 

Eustasia: Thank you so much. Leonard is not 
very strong yet. His temperature is up again today. 
(To Leonard.) You will be better on the sofa, darling. 
(To Nicholas.) Fm so sorry to trouble you. 
Nicholas: Not at all. I was just going anyhow. 
Leonard: (Sitting on the sofa.) Oh, nonsense. 
Stay and talk to us. Plenty of room for us all. 

Nicholas: (Feeling in his pockets.) Got to get my 
pipe. Left it upstairs like an ass. 

Leonard: (Taking out his case.) Have a cigarette 
instead ? 

Nicholas: Rather have a pipe, thanks. (He makes 
for the door.) 



S2 The Dover Road 

Leonard: (Anxiously.) But you'll come back? 

Nicholas: {Unwillingly.) Oh — or — righto. 
{He goes out.) 

Leonard: Come and keep us company, {To 
Eustasia who is tucking him^ up.) Thanks, Eustasia, 
thanks. That's quite all right. 

Eustasia: Another cushion for your back, darling? 

Leonard: No, thanks. 

Eustasia: Quite sure? 

Leonard: Quite sure, thanks. 

Eustasia : I can easily get it for you. 

Leonard: {Weakly.) Oh, very well. 

Eustasia: That's right. {Getting the cushion.) 
You must be comfortable. Now, are you sure that's 
all right? 

Leonard: Quite all right, thank you. 

Eustasia: Sure, darling? Anything else you want, 
I can get it for you at once. A rug over your knees ? 

Leonard: No, thank you, Eustasia. 

Eustasia: You wouldn't like a hot-water bottle? 

Leonard: {With a sigh.) No, thank you, Eustasia. 

Eustasia: You've only got to say, you know. Now 
shall we talk, or would you like me to read to you? 
{She settles down next to him.) 

Leonard: {Choosing the lesser evil.) I think read 
— no, I mean, talk — no, read to me. 

Eustasia: It's for you to say, darling. 

Leonard: {His eyes closed.) Read to me, Eustasia. 

Eustasia: {Opening her book.) We'll go on from 
where we left ofif. We didn't get very far — I marked 
the place . . . Yes, here we are. "... the sandy 
deserts of Arabia and Africa " And then 



The Dover Road 83 

there's a little footnote at the bottom; that's how I 
remember it. (Reading the footnote.) "Tacit. Annal. 
l.ii, Dion Casius 1. Ivi. p. 833 and the speech of Augus- 
tus himself." That doesn't seem to mean much. "It 
receives great light from the learned notes of his 
French translator M. Spanheim." Well, that's a good 
thing. Spanheim — sounds more like a German, doesn't 
it ? Now are you sure you're quite comfortable, dear ? 

Leonard: (His eyes closed.) Yes, thank you, 
Eustasia. 

Eustasia: Then I'll begin. (In her reading-aloud 
voice.) "Happily for the repose of mankind, the moder- 
ate system recommended by the wisdom of Augustus, 
was adopted by the fears and vices of his immediate 
successors. Engaged in the pursuit of pleasure or the 
exercise of tyranny, the first Caesars seldom showed 
themselves to the armies, or to the provinces ; nor, 
were they disposed to suffer that those triumphs which 
their indolence neglected should be usurped by the con- 
duct and valour or their lieutenants." (Speeding up.) 
"The military fame of a subject was considered as an 
insolent invasion of the Imperial prerogative; and it 
became the duty as well as interest of every Roman 
General to guard the frontiers entrusted to his care" — • 
(Recklessly.) "without aspiring for conquests which 
might have proved no less fatal to himself than to the 
vanquished barbarians" . . . And then there's another 
footnote. Perhaps it would be better if I read all the 
footnotes afterwards — what do you think, darling? 
Or shall we take them as they come ? 

Leonard: (Without opening his eyes.) Yes, dear. 

Eustasia: Very well. This is footnote 5. "Ger- 
manicus, Suetonius Paulinus and Agricola" — (She 
stumbles over the names.) — "were checked and recalled 
in the course of their victories. Corbulo was put to 



84 The Dover Road 

death." Oh, what a shame! "MiHtary merit, as it is 
admirably expressed by Tacitus, was, in the strictest 

sense of the word " well, there are two words, and 

they are both in Latin. I suppose Tacitus wrote in 
Latin. But it doesn't really matter because it's only 
a footnote. {Anxiously.) Are you liking the book, 
darling? 

Leonard: Very much, dear. 

Eustasia: It's nicely written, but I don't think it's 
very exciting. I don't think Mr. Latimer has a very 
good taste in books. I asked him to recommend me 
something really interesting to read aloud, and he said 
that the two most interesting books he knew were 
Carlyle's "French Revolution" and — and — {Looking at 
the cover.) Gibbon's "Roman Empires" . . . Fancy, 
there are four volumes of it. and six hundred pages in 
a volume. We're at page 19 now. {She reads a line 
or two to herself.) Oh now, this is rather interesting, 
because it's all about us. "The only accession which 
the Roman Empire received during the first century 
of the Christian era, was the province of Britain." 
Fancy! "The proximity of its situation to the coast 
of Gaul seemed to invite their arms, the pleasing, 
though doubtful intelligence of a pearl fishery, attracted 
their avarice." And then there's a footnote — I suppose 
that's to say it was Whitstable. {Getting to it.)' 
Oh no — "The British pearls proved however, of little 
value, on account of their dark and livid colour." 
How horrid. "Tacitus observes " well, then, Taci- 
tus says something again ... I zvish he would write 
in English . . . Now where was I ? Something about 
the pearls. Oh, yes. "After a war of about forty 
years — " good gracious! — "undertaken by the most 

stupid, maintained by the most dissolute, and " 

(Nicholas returns with his pipe.) 



The Dover Road 85 

Nicholas: Oh, sorry, I'm interrupting. 

Leonard: (Waking up.) No, no. Eustasia was 
just reading to me. ( To her.) You mustn't tire your- 
self, dear. (To Nicholas.) Stay and talk. 

Nicholas: What's the book? Carlyle's "French 
Revolution" ? 

Eustasia: (Primly.) Certainly not. (Looking at 
the title again.) Gibbon's "Roman Empire." 

Nicholas: Any good? 

Eustasia: Fascinating, isn't it, Leonard? 

Leonard: Very. 

Nicholas: You ought to try Carlyle, old chap. 

Leonard: Is he good? 

Nicholas: (Who has had eight pages read aloud to 
him by Eustasia.) Oh, topping. 

Eustasia: (Looking at her watch.) Good gracious ! 
I ought to be dressing. 

Leonard: (Looking at his.) Yes, it is about time. 

Nicholas: (Looking at his.) Yes. 

Eustasia: Leonard, darling, I don't think it would 
be safe for you to change. Not tonight, tomorrow if 
you like. 

Leonard: I say, look here, you said that last night. 

Eustasia: Ah, but your temperature has gone up 
again. 

Nicholas: I expect that's only because the book 
was so exciting. 

Leonard: Yes, that's right. 

Eustasia: But I took his temperature before I began 
reading. 

Nicholas: Perhaps yesterday's instalment was still 
hanging about a bit. 



86 



The Dover Road 



Eustasia: {To Leonard.) No, darling, not tonight. 
Just to please his Eustasia. 

Leonard: (Sulkily.) All right. 
Eustasia: That's a good boy. 

(She walks to the door, Nicholas going with 
her to open it.) 
Leonard: I say, don't go, old chap. You can change 
in five minutes. 
Nicholas: Righto. 

(He sees Eustasia out and comes back. There 
is silence for a little. ) 

Leonard: I say! 
Yes? 

( Thinking better of it. ) Oh, nothing. 
(After a pause.) Curious creatures, 



Nicholas: 
Leonard: 
Nicholas: 
women. 

Leonard: 

Nicholas: 

Leonard: 

Nicholas: 

Leonard: 
of year. 

Nicholas: 

Leonard : 

Nicholas: 

Leonard: 

Nicholas: 
thought of Nice. 

Leonard: Not bad. 
Cannes myself. 

Nicholas: There's not much in it. 



Amazing. 

They're so unexpected. 

So unreasonable. 

Yes . . . 

(Suddenly.) I hate England at this time 

So do I. 

Do you go South as a rule? 
As a rule. 
Monte ? 
Sometimes. We had thought — I half 

We were — I think I prefer 



The Dover Road 



87 



Leonard: No . . . (After a pause.) Between our- 
selves, you know — quite between ourselves — I'm about 
fed up with women. 

Nicholas: Absolutely. 

You are too? 

Rather. I should think so. 
They're so dashed unreasonable. 
So unexpected . . . 
(Suddenly.) Had you booked your 



Leonard: 

Nicholas: 

Leonard: 

Nicholas: 

Leonard: 
rooms ? 

Nicholas: 
Leonard: 
Nicholas: 
Leonard : 
Nicholas: 
door.) 
Leonard: 
Nicholas: 
Leonard : 
Nicholas: 
Leonard: 
Nicholas: 



At Nice? Yes. 

So had I. 

At Cannes ? 

Yes . . .1 say, what about it? 

Do you mean — (He warues a hand at the 

Yes. 

Evaporating? 

Yes. Quite quietly, you know. 
Without ostentation. 
That's it. 



scheme. And then we 
At least, only one set of 
I'll toss you whether we 



It's rather a 
shouldn't waste the rooms, 
them, I'll tell you what, 
go to Nice or Cannes. 

Leonard: Right. (He takes out a coin and tosses.) 

Nicholas: Tails. 

Leonard: (Uncovering the coin.) Heads. Do you 
mind coming to Cannes ? 

Nicholas: Just as soon, really. When shall we 
go ? Tomorrow ? 



88 The Dover Road 

Leonard: Mightn't giet a chance tomorrow. Why 
not tonight? It seems a pity to waste the opportunity. 

Nicholm: You mean while Eustasia's dressing? 

Leonard: The — er — opportunity. Sleep the night 
at Dover and cross tomorrow morning. 

Nicholas: She'll be after us. 

Leonard: Nonsense. 

Nicholas: My dear man, you don't know Eustasia. 

Leonard: I don't know Eustasia ? Well ! 

Nicholas: {With conviction.) She'll be after you 
like a bird. You've never seen Eustasia when she has 
got somebody ill to look after. 

Leonard: I've never seen Eustasia? Well! 

Nicholas: My dear chap, you've only had three days 
of her ; I've had six . . . Lord ! . . . Look here. We 

shall have to 

{Enter Latimer.) 

Latimer: What, Leonard, all alone? 

Nicholas: I say, you're the very man we want. 

Leonard: {Frowning ) S'sh. 

Latimer: Leonard, don't "s'sh" Nicholas when he 
wants to speak to me. 

Nicholas: {To Leonard.) It's all right old chap, 
Latimer is a sportsman. 

Latimer: {To Leonard.) There! You see the sort 
of reputation I have in the west end. {To Nicholas.) 
What is it you want to do? Run away? 

Leonard: Well — er 

Nicholas: I say, however did you guess? 

Latimer: Leonard's car has had steam up for the 
last twenty-four hours, waiting for a word from its 
owner. 

Leonard: {Seeing the South of France.) By Jove! 



The Dover Road 89 

Latimer: And you are going with him, Nicholas? 

Nicholas: Yes. Thought I might as well be getting 
on. Very grateful and all that, but can't stay here for 
ever. 

Latimer: (Wondering what ha\s happened betivecn 
Nicholas and Anne. ) So you are going too. I thought 
— Well ! Nicholas is going too. 

Leonard: I say, you do understand — I mean about 
— er — I mean, when I'm quite well again — start afresh 
and all that. Cosset her a bit. But when you're ill — 
or supposed to be ill — Well, I mean, ask Nicholas. 

Nicholas: Oh, rather. 

Latimer: My dear Leonard, why these explana- 
tions? Who am I to interfere in other people's matri- 
monial affairs? You and Nicholas are going away — • 
good-bye. {He holds out his hand.) 

Nicholas: Yes, but what about Eustasia? She's 
not going to miss the chance of cosseting Leonard 
just when she is getting into it. She'll be after him 
like a bird. 

Latimer: I see. So you want me to keep her here? 

Nicholas: That's the idea, if you could. 

Latimer: How can I keep her here if she doesn't 
want to stay? 

Leonard: Well, how do you keep anybody here? 

Latimer: Really, Leonard, I am surprised at you. 
By the charm of my old world courtesy and hospitality, 
of course. 

Leonard: Oh ! Well, I doubt if that keeps Eustasia. 

Latimer: (Shaking his head sadly.) I am afraid 
that that is only too true. In fact, the more I think 
of it, the more I realise that there is only one thing 
which will keep this devoted wife from her afflicted 
and suffering husband. 



90 The Dover Road 

Leonard and Nicholas: What? 
{Dominic comes in.) 

Latimer: His lordship and Mr. Nicholas are leaving 
at once. His lordship's car will wait for them outside 
the gates. See that a bag is packed for them. 

Dominic: Yes, sir. 

Latimer: And come back when you've seen about 
that. 

Dominic: Yes, sir. 
{He goes out.) 

Latimer: The car can return for the rest of your 
luggage, and take it over in the morning. 

Nicholas: Good! 

Leonard: Er — thanks very much. {Anxiously.) 
What were you going to say about the only way of — 
er 

Latimer: The only way of keeping this devoted 
wife from her afflicted and suffering husband? 

Leonard: Yes. What is it? 

Latimer: Somebody else must have a temperature. 
Somebody else must be ill. Eustasia must have some- 
body else to cosset. 

Nicholas: I say, how awfully sporting of you! 

Latimer : Sporting ? 

Nicholas: To sacrifice yourself like that. 

Latimer: I? You don't think / am going to sacri- 
fice myself, do you? No, no, it's Dominic. 

Dominic: {Coming in.) Yes, sir. 

Latimer: Dominic, are you ever ill? 

Dominic: Never, sir, barring a slight shortness of 
the breath. 

Latimer: {To tJte others.) That's awkward. I 
don't think you can cosset a shortness of the breath. 



The Dover Road 



91 



Nicholas: (To Dominic.) I say, you could pretend 
to be ill, couldn't you? 

Dominic: With what object, sir? 

Nicholas: Well — er 

Latimer: Her ladyship is training to be a nurse. 
She has already cured two very obstinate cases of nasal 
catarrh accompanied by debility and a fluctuating tem- 
perature. If she brings one more case off successfully, 
she earns the diploma and the gold medal of the Royal 
Therapeutical Society. 

Nicholas: That's right. 

Dominic: And you would wish me to be that third 
case, sir? 

Nicholas 

Dominic 
ship ? 

Latimer: 

Dominic 
to decline. 

Nicholas 

Leonard. 



That's the idea. 

And be nursed well again by her lady- 
Such would be your inestimable privilege. 
I am sorry, sir. I must beg respectfully 



I say, be a sport. 

(Azi'kziHirdly.) Of course we should — 
Naturally you would not — er — lose anything by — er — 

Latimer: His lordship wishes to imply that not only 
would your mental horizon be widened during the 
period of convalescence, but that material blessings 
would also flow. Isn't that right, Leonard? 

Nicholas: A commission on the gold medal. Nat- 
urally. 

Domimc: 
my way, 



Nicholas: 
Latimer: 



I am sorry, sir. I am afraid I cannot see 
I say 



Thank you, Dominic. 



92 The Dover Road 

Dominic: Thank you, sir. 
(He goes out.) 

Nicholas: Well, that's torn it. (To Latimer.) If 
you're quite sure that you wouldn't like to have a go ? 
It's the chance of a lifetime to learn all about the French 
Revolution. 

Latimer: Well, well! Something must be done. 
(He smiles suddenly. ) After all, why not ? 

Leonard: (Eagerly.) You will? 

Latimer: I will. 

Nicholas: I say 

Latimer: (Waving them off.) No. no. Don't 
wait. Fly. 

Leonard: Yes, we'd better be moving. Come on! 

Nicholas: (With a grin, as he goes.) There's an 
awfully good bit in the second chapter 

Latimer: (Holding up a -Unger.) Listen! I hear 
her coming. 

Leonard: Good Lord! 
(They fly. 

Latimer left alone, gives himself up to thought. 
What illness shall he havef He rings one of 
his many hells and Dominic comes in.) 

Latimer: Oh, Dominic. In consequence of your 
obstinate good-health, I am going to sacrifice myself 
for — I mean, I myself am going to embrace this great 
opportunity of mental and spiritual development. 

Dominic: Yes, sir. Very good of you, I'm sure, sir. 

Latimer: What sort of illness would you recom- 
mend? 

Dominic: How about a nice sprained ankle, sir? 

Latimer: You think that would go well? 



The Dover Road 93 

Dominic: It would avoid any interference with the 
customary habits at meal-time, sir. There's a sort of 
monotony about bread-and-milk ; no inspiration about 
it, sir, whether treated as a beverage or as a comestible. 
Latimer: I hadn't thought about bread-and-milk. 
Dominic: You'll find that you will have little else to 
think about, sir, if you attempt anything stomachic. 
Of course you could have the usual cold, sir. 

Latimer: No, no, not that. Let us be original . . . 
Dominic: How about Xerostomia, sir? Spelt with 
an X. 

Latimer: Is that good? 

Dominic: Joseph tells me that his father has had it 
for a long time. 

Latimer: Oh ! Then perhaps we oughtn't to deprive 
him of it. 

Dominic: I looked it up in the dictionary one Sun- 
day afternoon, sir. They describe it there as "an abnor- 
mal dryness of the mouth." 

Latimer: I said I wanted to be original, Dominic. 
Dominic: Quite so, sir. 

(They both think in silence.) 
Eustasia: (Oif.) Dominic! Dominic! 
Dominic: That is her ladyship, sir. 
Latimer: Quick. {Bustling him oif.) Don't let 
her come in for a moment. I must assume a recumbent 
position. 

Dominic: Yes, sir. 
(He goes out. 

Latimer lies down at full length on the sofa and 
begins to groan; putting a hand first on his 
stomach, then on his head, then on his elbow. 
Eustasia does not come. He cautiously 
raises his head; the room is empty.) 



94 The Dover Road 

Latimer: (Disappointedly.) Throwing it away! 
(He hears footsteps and settles down again.) 

(Anne comes in, hat on, hag in hand. She is just 

at the door when a groan reaches her. She 

stops. Another groan comes. She puts down 

her bag and comes tozuards the sofa with an 

"Oh!" of anxiety.) 

Latimer: Oh, my poor — er — head! (He clasps it.) 

Anne: (Alarmed.) What is it? (She kneels by 

him. ) 

Latimer: Oh, my — (Cheerfully.) Hallo, Anne, is 
it you? (He sits up.) 
Anne: (Still anxious.) Yes, what is it? 
Latimer: (Bravely.) Oh, nothing, nothing. A 
touch of neuralgia. 

Anne: Oh! . . . You frightened me. 
Latimer: Did I, Anne? I'm sorry. 
Anne: You were groaning so. I thought — I didn't 
know what had happened . . . (Sympathetically.) 
Is it very bad ? 

Latimer: Not so bad as it sounded. 
Anne: (Taking off 'her gloves.) I know how bad it 
can be. -father has it sometimes. Then I have to send 
it away. (She has her gloves off now.) May I try? 
Latimer: (Remorsefully.) Anne! 

(She leans over from the hack of him and begins 
to stroke his forehead with the tips of her 
fingers. He looks up at her.) 
Anne: Close your eyes. 
Latimer: Ah, but I don't want to now. 

(She laughs without embarrassment.) 
Anne: It will go soon. 
Latimer: Not too soon . . . 



The Dover Road 95 

'Anne: Aren't faces funny when they're upside 
down? 

Latimer: You have the absurdest little upside-down 
face that ever I saw, Anne. 

Anne: {Laughing a little.) Have I? 

Latimer: Why do you wear a hat on your chin? 
{She laughs.) Why do you wear a hat? 

Anne: I was going away, 

Latimer: Without saying good-bye? 

Anne: {Ashamed.) I — I think so. 

Latinver: Oh, Anne! 

Anne: {Hastily.) I should have written. 

Latimer: A post card! 

Anne: A letter. 

Latimer: With many thanks for your kind hospital- 
ity, yours sincerely. 

Anne: Yours very sincerely. 

Latimer: P. S. I shall never see you again. 

Anne: P. S. I shall never forget. 

Latimer: Ah, but you must forget . . . 

Anne: {After a pause.) Is it better? 

Latimer: {Lazily.) It is just the same. It will 
always be the same. It is unthinkable that anything 
different should ever happen. In a hundred years time 
we shall still be Hke this. You will be a little tired, 
perhaps; your fingers will ache; but I shall be lying 
here, quite, quite happy. 

Anne: You shall have another minute — no more. 

Latimer: Then I shall go straight to the chemist, 
and ask for three pennyworth of Anne's fingers. 

{They are silent for a little. Then she stops 
and listens.) 

What is it? 



96 The Dover Road 

Anne: I heard something. Whispers. 

Latimer: Don't look round. 

{Leonard and Nicholas in hats and coats creep 
cautiously in. Very noiselessly, fingers to 
lips, they open the front door and creep out.) 

Anne: What was it? Was it 

Latimer: An episode in your Hfe. Over, buried, 
forgotten . . . 

Anne: (Softly.) Thank you. {Suddenly with 
emotion.) Oh, I do thank you. 

Latimer: I have forgotten what you are thanking 
me for. 

{Dominic comes in, and stops suddenly on see- 
ing them.) 

Dominic: Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. 

Latimer: Go on, Anne, {Happily.) I am having 
neuralgia, Dominic. 

Dominic: Yes, sir. A stubborn complaint, as I have 
heard, sir. 

Latimer: Miss Anne is making me well . . . What 
did you want? 

Dominic: Her ladyship says will you please excuse 
her if she is not down tonight. 

Latimer: {To Anne.) Shall we excuse her if she is 
not down tonight? 

Dominic: The fact is, sir, that Joseph is taken ill 
suddenly, and 

Latimer: { To himself. ) I never thought of Joseph ! 

Anne: Oh, poor Joseph ! What is it? 

Dominic: A trifling affection of the throat, but 
necessitating careful attention, her ladyship says. 



The Dover Road 97 

Latimer: Please tell her ladyship how very much I 
thank her for looking after Joseph . . . and tell Joseph 
how very sorry I am for him. 

Dominic: Yes, sir. 

{He goes out.) 
Latimer: You can't go now, Anne. You will have 
to stay and chaperone Eustasia and me. 

(She laughs and shakes her head.) 
Must you go ? 

Anne: Yes. Tomorrow morning. 
Latimer: Back to your father? 
Anne: Yes. 

{He looks at her, and nods.) 

Latimer: Let us say good-bye now. There is a 
magic in your fingers which goes to my head, and makea 
me think ridiculous things. Let us say good-bye now. 

Anne: {Taking his hand.) Good-bye. {She kisses 
his hand and says) I wish you had been my father. 
{Then she goes out.) 

{Mr. Latimer stands there, wondering how he 
likes this. He walks across to a mirror to 
have a look at himself. While he is there 
Dominic comes in to superintend the laying 
of the table for three.) 
Latimer: {At the mirror.) Dominic, how old 
would you say I was? 

Dominic: More than that, sir. 
Latimer: {With a sigh.) Yes, I'm afraid I am. 
And yet I look very young. Sometimes I think I look 
too young. 

Dominic: Yes, sir. 

Latimer: Miss Anne has just asked me to be her 
father. 



98 The Dover Road 

Dominic: Very considerate of her, I'm sure, sir. 
Latimer: Yes . . , To prevent similar mistakes in 
the future, I think I shall wear a long white beard. 

Dominic: Yes, sir. Shall I order one from the 
stores ? 

Latimer: Please. 

Dominic: Thank you, sir . . . Is Miss Anne re- 
turning tomorrow, sir? 

Latimer: Yes . . . don't over-do the length, Dom- 
inic, and I like the crinkly sort. 

Dominic: Yes, sir . . . One of our most successful 
weeks on the whole if I may say so, sir. 

Latimer: (thoughtfully.) Yes . . . Yes . . . 

(The front door bell rings. With a little start 
he pulls himself together and goes out, saying 

as he goes ) Well, well, we must all do 

what we can, Dominic. 
Dominic: That's the only way, isn't it, sir? 

( The room is now just as we sazif it on that first 

night. Dominic draws the curtains and opens 

the big front door.) 

A Voice: Oh — er — is this — er — an hotel? My 

chauffeur said — we've had an accident, been delayed on 

the way — he said that 

{Evidently another romantic couple. Let us 
leave them to Mr. Latimer.) 



THE 
TRUTH 
ABOUT 
BLAYDS 



99 



CHARACTERS 

Oliver Blayds 

IsoBEL His Younger Daughter. 

Marion Blayds-Conway His Eldest Daughter. 

William Blayds-Conway His Son-in-Law. 

Oliver Blayds-Conway ) ^-^ Grandchildren. 
Septima Blayds-Conway ) 

A. L. RoYCE 

Parsons 

Scene: A room in Oliver Blayd's house in Port- 
man Square. 

Act I. Afternoon. 

'Act n. Morning, four days later. 

Act HI. Afternoon, three days later. 



100 



ACT I 

A solid handsomely-furnished room in a house in Port- 
man Square — solid round table, solid writing desk, 
solid chairs and sofa, with no air of comfort, but 
only of dignity. At the back is a painting of Oliver 
Blayds, also handsome and dignified . . . Oliver 
Blayds-C onway , his young grandson, comes in 
zvith Royce, the latter a clean-shaven man of forty 
whose thick dark hair shows a touch of grey. It 
is about three o'clock in the afternoon. 

Oliver: {As he comes in.) This way. {He holds 
the door open for Royce.) 

Royce: {Coming in.) Thanks, 

Oliver: Some of the family will be showing up di- 
rectly. Make yourself comfortable. {He sits in one 
of the dignified chairs.) 

Royce: Thanks. {He looks round the room with 
interest and sees the picture over the fireplace.) 
Hullo, there he is. 

Oliver: What? {Bored.) Oh, the old 'un, yes. 

Royce: {Reverently.) Oliver Blayds, the last of 
the Victorians. 

{Oliver sighs and looks despairingly to 
Heaven. ) 

I can't take my hat off because it's off already, but 
I should like to. 

Oliver: Good Lord, you don't really feel like that, 
do you? 

101 



I02 The Truth About Blayds 

Royce: Of course. Don't you? 

Oliver: Well, hardly. He's my grandfather. 

Royce: True. (Smiling.) All the same, there's 
nothing in the Ten Commandments about not honour- 
ing your grandfather. 

Oliver: Nothing about honouring 'em either. It's 
left optional. Of course, he's a wonderful old fellow — 
ninety and still going strong; but, — well, as I say, he's 
my grandfather. 

Royce: I'm afraid, Conway, that even the fact of 
his being your grandfather doesn't prevent me think- 
ing him a very great poet, a very great philosopher, 
and a very great man. 

Oliver: (Interested.) I say, do you really mean 
that, or are you just quoting from the Address you've 
come to present? 

Royce: Well, it's in the Address, but then I wrote 
the Address, and got it up. 

Oliver: Yes, I know — you told me — To Oliver 
Blayds on his ninetieth birthday : Homage from some 
of the younger writers. Very pretty of them and all 
that, and the old boy will love it. But do they really 
feel like that about him — that's what interests me. 
I've always thought of him as old-fashioned, early Vic- 
torian, and that kind of thing. 

Royce: Oh, he is. Like Shakespeare. Early Eliza- 
bethan and that kind of thing. 

Oliver: Shakespeare's different. I meant more like 
Longfellow . . . Don't think I am setting up my 
opinion against yours. If you say that Blayds' poetry 
is as good as the best, I'll take your word for it Blayds 



The Truth About Blayds 103 

the poet, you're the authority. Blayds the grandfather, 
/ am. 

Royce: All right then, you can take my word for 
it that his best is as good as the best. Simple as Words- 
worth, sensuous as Tennyson, passionate as Swinburne. 

Oliver: Yes, but what about the modern Johnnies? 
The Georgians. 

Royce: When they're ninety I'll tell you. If I'm 
alive. 

Oliver: Thanks very much. 

( There is a short silence. Royce leaves the pic- 
ture and comes slowly towards the writing 
table. ) 

Oliver: {Shaking his head.) Oh, no! 

Royce: (Turning round.) What? 

Oliver: That's not the table where the great mas- 
terpieces are written, and that's not the pen they are 
written with. 

Royce: My dear fellow 

Oliver: Is there a pen there, by the way? 

Royce: (Looking.) Yes. Yours? 

Oliver: The family's. You've no idea how difficult 
it is to keep pens there. 

Royce: Why, where do they go to? 

Oliver: The United States, mostly. Everybody 
who's let in here makes for the table sooner or later 
and pinches one of the pens. "Lands' sake, what a 
head," they say, waving at the picture with their right 
hand and feeling behind their back with the left; it's 
wonderful to see 'em. Tim, my sister — Tim and I 
glued a pen on to the tray once when one of 'em was 
coming, and watched him clawing at it for about five 
minutes, and babbling about the picture the whole time. 



104 The Truth About Blayds 

I should think he knew what the poet Blayds looked 
like by the time he got the pen into his pocket. 

Royce: (Going back to the picture.) Well, it's a 
wonderful head. 

Oliver: Yes, I will say that for the old boy, he does 
look like somebody. 

Royce: When was this done? 

Oliver : Oh, about eighteen years ago. 

Royce: Yes. That was about when I met him. 

Oliver: You never told me you'd met him. Did 
you meet me by any chance? 

Royce: No. 

Oliver: I was five then, and people who came to see 
Blayds the poet patted the head of Blayds the poet's 
grandson and said : "Are you going to be a poet too, 
my little man, when you grow up-?" 

Royce: (Smiling.) And what did Blayds the poet's 
grandson say? 

Oliver: Urged on by Blayds the poet's son-in-law 
Blayds the poet's grandson offered to recite his grand- 
father's well-known poem "A Child's Thoughts on 
Waking." I'm sorry you missed it, Royce, but it's no 
good asking for it now. 

Royce: (Half to himself.) It was at Bournemouth. 
He was there with his daughter. Not your mother, she 
would have been younger than that. 

Oliver: You mean Aunt Isobel. 

Royce: Isobel, yes. (After a little silence.) Isobel 
Blayds. Yes, that was eighteen years ago. I was 
about your age. 

Oliver: A fine handsome young fellow like me? 

Royce : Yes. 

Oliver: Any grandfathers living? 



The Truth About Blayds 105 

Royce: No. 

Oliver: Lucky devil. But I don't suppose you real- 
ised it. 

Royce: No, I don't think I realised it. 

Oliver: {Thinking it out.) I suppose if I had a 
famous father I shouldn't mind so much. I should feel 
that it was partly my doing. I mean that he wouldn't 
have begun to be famous until I had been born. But 
the poet Blayds was a world-wide celebrity long before 
I came on the scene, and I've had it hanging over me 
ever since .... Why do you suppose I am a member 
of the club? 

Royce: Well, why not? It's a decent club. We are 
all very happy thfere. 

Oliver: Yes, but why did they elect mef 

Royce: Oh, well, if we once began to ask ourselves 
that 

Oliver: Not at all. The answer in your case is be- 
cause A. L, Royce is a well-known critic and a jolly 
good fellow. The answer in my case is because there's 
a B. in both. In other words, because there's a Blayds 
in Blayds-Conway. If my father had stuck to his 
William Conway when he got married, I should never 
have been elected. Not at the age of twenty-two, any- 
way. 

Royce: Then I'm very glad he changed his name. 
Because otherwise, it seems, I might not have had the 
pleasure of meeting you. 

Oliver: Oh, well, there's always a something. But 
compliments aside, it isn't much fun for a man when 
things happen to him just because of the Blayds in 
Blayds-Conway. You know what I am doing now, 
don't you? I told you. 

Royce: Secretary to some politician, isn't it? 



io6 The Truth About Blayds 

Oliver: Yes. And why? Because of the Blayds 



in- 



Royce: Oh, nonsense! 

Oliver: It's true. Do you think I want to be a 
private secretary to a dashed poHtician ? What's a pri- 
vate secretary at his best but a superior sort of valet? 
I wanted to be a motor engineer. Not allowed. Why 
not? Because the Blayds in Blayds-Conway wouldn't 
have been any use. But politicians simply live on that 
sort of thing. 

Royce: What sort of thing? 

Oliver: Giving people jobs because they're the 
grandsons of somebody. 

Royce: Yes, I wonder if I was as cynical as you 
eighteen years ago. 

Oliver: Probably not; there wasn't a Grandfather 
Royce. By the way, talking about being jolly good fel- 
lows and all that, have you noticed that I haven't 
offered you a cigarette yet? 

Royce: I don't want to smoke. 

Oliver: Well, that's lucky. Smoking isn't allowed 
in here. 

Royce: {Annoyed by this.) Now look here, Con- 
way, do you mind if I speak plainly? 

Oliver: Do. But just one moment before you be- 
gin. My name, unfortunately is Blayds-Conway. Call 
me Conway at the Club and I'll thank you for it. But 
if you call me Conway in the hearing of certain mem- 
bers of my family, I'm afraid there will be trouble. 
Now what were you going to say ? 

Royce: {His annoyance gone.) Doesn't matter. 

Oliver: No, do go on, Mr. Blayds-Royce. 

Royce: Very well, Mr. Blayds-Conway. I am old 
enough to be — no, not your grandfather — your uncle — 



The Truth About Blayds 107 

and I want to say this. Oliver Blayds is a very great 
man and also a very old man, and I think that while 
you live in the house of this very great man, the in- 
conveniences to which his old age puts you, my dear 
Conway 

Oliver: Blayds-Conway. 

Royce: {Smiling.) Blayds-Conway, I'm sorry. 

Oliver: Perhaps you'd better call me Oliver. 

Royce: Yes, I think I will. Well, then, Oliver- 



Oliver: Yes, but you've missed the whole point. 
The whole point is that I don't want to live in his house. 
Do you realise that I've never had a house I could call 
my own? I mean a house where I could ask people. 
I brought you along this afternoon because you'd got 
permission to come anyhow with that Address of yours. 
But I shouldn't have dared to bring anybody else along 
from the club. Here we all are, and always have been, 
living not our lives, but his life. Because — well, just 
because he likes it so. 

Royce: {Almost to himself.) Yes . . . yes . . . 
I know. 

Oliver: Well! 

{Septima Blayds-Conway comes in, a fair- 
haired nineteen-year-old modern, with no 
sentimental nonsense about her.) 
Septima: Hullo! 

Oliver: {Half getting out of his chair.) Hullo, 
Tim. Come and be introduced. This is Mr. A. L. 
Royce. My sister, Septima. 

Royce: {Mechanically quoting.) 

"Septima, seventh dark daughter; 
I saw her once where the black pines troop to 

the water — 
A rock-set river that broke into bottomless pools 



io8 The Truth About Blayds 

Septima: Thank you very much, Mr. Royce. 
{Holding out her hand to Oliver.) Noll, I'll trouble 
you. 

Oliver: {Feeling in his pockets.) Damn! I did 
think Royce — {He hands her a shilling.) Here you 
are. 

Sepiima: Thanks. Thank you again, Mr. Royce. 

Royce: I'm afraid I don't understand. 

Sepiima: It's quite simple. I get a shilling when 
visitors quote "Septima" at me, and Noll gets a shilling 
when they don't. 

Oliver: {Reproachfully.) I did think that you 
would be able to control yourself, Royce. 

Royce: {Smiling.) Sorry! My only excuse is 
that I never met anyone called Septima before, and that 
it came quite unconsciously. 

Septima: Oh, don't apologise. I admire you im- 
mensely for it. It's the only fun I get out of the name. 

Oliver: Septima Blayds-Conway, when you're the 
only daughter and fair at that — I ask you. 
Royce: {Defensively.) It's a beautiful poem. 
Septima: Have you come to see Blayds the poet? 
Royce: Yes. 

Oliver: One of the homage merchants. 
Royce: Miss Blayds-Conway, I appeal to you. 

Septima: Anything I can do in return for your 
shilling 

Royce: I have come here on behalf of some of my 
contemporaries in order to acquaint that very great 
man Oliver Blayds with the feelings of admiration 
which we younger writers entertain for him. It ap- 



The Truth About Blayds 109 

pears now that not only is Blayds a great poet and a 
great philosopher, but also a 

Oliver: Great grandfather. 

Royce: But also a grandfather. Do you think you 
can persuade your brother that Blayds' public reputa- 
tion as a poet is in no way affected by his private repu- 
tation as a grandfather, and beg him to spare me any 
further revelations. 

Septima: Certainly; I could do all that for nine- 
pence, and you'd still be threepence in hand. {Sternly 
to Oliver.) Blayds-Conway, young fellow, have you 
been making r-revelations about your ger-rand-f ather ? 

Oliver: My dear girl, I've made no r-revelations 
whatever. What's upset him probably is that I re- 
fused to recite to him "A Child's Thoughts on Wak- 
ing." 

Septima: Did he pat your head and ask you to? 

Royce: No, he didn't. 

Septima: Well, you needn't be huffy about it, Mr. 
Royce. You would have been in very good company. 
Meredith and Hardy have, and lots of others. 

Oliver: Well, anyway, I've never been kissed by 
Maeterlinck. 

Septima: (Looking dozmi coyly.) Mr. Royce, you 
have surprised my secret, which I have kept hidden 
these seventeen years. Materlinck — Maurice and I 

Royce: Revelations was not quite the word. What 
I should have said was that I have been plunged sud- 
denly, and a little unexpectedly, into an unromantic 
matter-of-fact atmosphere which hardly suits the oc- 
casion of my visit. On any other day — you see what 
I mean. Miss Septima. 

Septima: You're quite right. This is not the oc- 



no The Truth About Blayds 

casion for persiflage. Besides we're very proud of him 
really. 

Royce: I'm sure you are. 

Septima: {Weightily.) You know, Noll, there are 
times when I think that possibly we have misjudged 
Blayds. 

Oliver: Blayds the poet or Blayds the man? 

Septima: Blayds the man. After all, Uncle Thomas 
was devoted to him, and he was rather particular. 
Wasn't he, Mr. Royce? 

Royce: I don't think I know your Uncle Thomas, 
do I? 

Septima: He wasn't mine, he was Mother's. 

Oliver: The Sage of Chelsea. 

Royce: Oh, Carlyle. Surely 

Septima: Mother called them all "uncle" in her day. 

Royce: Well, now, there you are. That's one of 
the most charming things about Oliver Blayds. He has 
always had a genius for friendship. Read the lives 
and letters of all the great Victorians, and you find it 
all the way. They loved him. They 

Oliver: {Striking up.) God save our gracious 
Queen ! 

Royce: {With a good-humoured shrug.) Oh, well, 

Septima: Keep it for Father and Mother, Mr. 
Royce. We're hopeless. Shall I tell you why? 

Royce: Yes? 

Septima: When you were a child, did you ever get 
the giggles in church? 

Royce: Almost always — when the Vicar wasn't 
looking. 

Septima: There's something about it, isn't there — 



The Truth About Blayds iii 

the solemnity of it all — which starts you giggling. 
When the Vicar isn't looking. 
Royce: Yes. 

Septima: Exactly. And that's why we giggle — 
when the Vicar isn't looking. 

Marion : (Off.) Septima ! 

Oliver: And here comes the Vicar's wife. 

(Marion Blayds-Conway is 55 now. A dear 
foolish woman, who has never got over the 
fact that she is Oliver Blayds' daughter, hut 
secretly thinks that it is almost more wonder- 
ful to be William Blayds-C onway' s wife.) 
Marion: Oh, there you are. Why didn't you — 
(She sees Royce.) Oh! 
Oliver: This is Mr. A. L. Royce, Mother. 
Marion: (Distantly.) How do you do? 
Royce: How do you do? 

( There is an awkward silence. ) 
Marion: You'll excuse me a moment, Mr — er — er 



Oliver: Royce, Mother, A. L. Royce. 

Marion: Septima! — This is naturally rather a busy 
day, Mr. — er — We hardly expected — (She frowns at 
Oliver who ought to have known better by this time.) 
Septima, I want you just a moment — Oliver will look 
after his friend. I'm sure you'll understand, Mr — 
er 

Royce: Oh, quite. Of course. 

Septima: Mr. Royce has come to see Grandfather, 
Mother. 

Marion: (Appalled.) To see Grandfather! 
Royce: I was hoping — Mr. Blayds-Conway was 
good enough to say 



112 The Truth About Blayds 

Marion: I am afraid it is quite impossible. I am 
very sorry, but really quite impossible. My son 
shouldn't have held out hopes. 

Oliver: He didn't. You're barking up the wrong 
tree, Mother. It's Father who invited him. 

Royce: I am here on behalf of certain of my con- 
temporaries 

Oliver: Homage from some of our younger writ- 
ers 

Royce: Mr. Blayds was gracious enough to indi- 
cate that 

Septima: {In a violent whisper.) A. L. Royce, 
Mother ! 

Marion: Oh! Oh, I beg your pardon. Why didn't 
you tell me it was A. L. Royce, Oliver? Of course! 
We wrote to you. 
Royce: Yes. 

Marion: {All hospitality.) How silly of me! You 
must forgive me, Mr. Royce. Oliver ought to have 
told me. Grandfather — Mr. Blayds — will be ready at 
three-thirty. The doctor was very anxious that Grand- 
father shouldn't see anyone this year — outside the 
family, of course. I couldn't tell you how many people 
wrote asking if they could come today. Presidents of 
Societies and that sort of thing. From all over the 
world. Father did tell us. Do you remember, Sep- 
tima? 

Septima: Vm afraid I don't, Mother. I know I 
didn't believe it. 

Marion: {To Royce.) Septima — after the poem, 
you know. "Septima, seventh dark daughter — ''{And 
she would quote the whole of it, hut that her children 
interrupt.) 



The Truth About Blayds 113 

Oliver: (Solemnly.) Don't say you've never heard 
of it, Royce. 

Septima: (Distressed.) I don't believe he has. 

Oliver: (Encouragingly.) You must read it. I 
think you'd Hke it. 

Marion: It's one of his best known. The Times 
quoted it only last week. We had the cutting "Sep- 
tima, seventh dark daughter — " It was a favourite of 
my husband's even before he married me, 

Royce: It has been a favourite of mine for many 
years. 

Marion: And many other people's, I'm sure. We 
often get letters — Oh, if you could see the letters we 
get! 

Royce: I wonder you don't have a secretary. 

Marion: (With dignity.) My husband — Mr. 
Blayds-Conway — is Grandfather's secretary. He was 
appointed to the post soon after he married me. 
Twenty-five years ago. There is almost nothing he 
mightn't have done, but he saw where his duty lay, and 
he has devoted himself to Grandfather — to Mr. Blayds 
— ever since. 

Royce: I am sure we are all grateful to him. 

Marion: Grandfather, as you know, has refused a 
Peerage more than once. But I always say that if de- 
votion to duty counts for anything, William, my hus- 
band, ought to have been knighted long ago. Perhaps 
when Grandfather has passed away — But there! 

Royce: I was telling Oliver that I did meet Mr. 
Blayds once — and Miss Blayds. Down at Bourne- 
mouth. She was looking after him. He wasn't very 
well at the time. 

Marion: Oh, Isobel, yes. A wonderful nurse. I 
don't know what Grandfather would do without her. 



114 The Truth About Blayds 

Royce: She is still — ? I thought perhaps she was 
married, or 

Marion : Oh, no ! Isobel isn't the marrying sort. I 
say that I don't know what Grandfather would do 
without her, but I might almost say that I don't know 
what she would do without Grandfather. (Looking at 
her watch. ) Dear me, I promised Father that I would 
get those letters off. Septima dear, you must help me. 
Have you been round the house at all, Mr. Royce ? 

Royce: No, I've only just come. 

Marion: There are certain rooms which are shown 
to the public. Signed photographs, gifts from Tenny- 
son, Ruskin, Carlyle and many others. Illuminated 
addresses and so on, all most interesting. Oliver, per- 
haps you would show Mr. Royce — if it would interest 
you 

Royce: Oh, indeed, yes. 

Marion: Oliver! 

Oliver: {Throwing down the hook he zvas looking 
at.) Right. (He gets up.) Come on, Royce. (As 
they go out.) There's one thing that I can show you, 
anyway. 

Royce: What's that? 

Oliver: (Violently.) My bedroom. We're al- 
lowed to smoke there. 
(They go out.) 

Marion: (Sitting down at the writing-table.) He 
seems a nice man. About thirty-five, wouldn't you 
say — or more? 

Septima: Forty. But you never can tell with men. 
(She comes to the table.) 

Marion: (Getting to work.) Now those letters 
just want putting into their envelopes. And those want 
envelopes written for them. If you will read out the 



The Truth About Blayds 115 

addresses, dear — I think that will be the quickest way — 
I will 

Septima: {Thinking her own thoughts.) Mother! 

Marion: Yes, dear? (Writing.) Doctor John 
Treherne. 

Septima: I want to speak to you, 

Marion: Do you mean about anything important? 

Septima: For me, yes. 

Marion: You haven't annoyed your Grandfather, 
I hope. 

Septima: It has nothing to do with Grandfather. 

Marion: Beechcroft, Bexhill-on-Sea. We've been 
so busy all day. Naturally, being the Birthday. 
Couldn't you leave it till tomorrow, dear? 

Septima: (Eagerly.) Rita Ferguson wants me to 
share rooms with her. You know Fve always wanted 
to, and now she's just heard of some; there's a studio 
goes with it. On Campden Hill. 

Marion: Yes, dear. We'll see what Grandfather 
says, 

Septima: (Annoyed.) I said that this has nothing 
to do with Grandfather. We're talking about me. It's 
no good trying to do anything here, and 

Marion: There! I've written Campden Hill, how 
stupid of me. Haverstock Hill. We'll see what 
Grandfather says, dear. 

Septima: (Doggedly.) It has nothing to do with 
Grandfather. 

Marion: (Outraged.) Septima! 

Septima: "We'll see what Grandfather says" — that 
has always been the answer to everything in this house. 

Marion: (As sarcastically as she can.) You can 
hardly have forgotten who Grandfather is. 



ii6 The Truth About Blayds 

Septima: I haven't. 

Marion: What was it the Telegraph called him only 
this morning? "The Supreme Songster of an Earlier 
Epoch." 

Septima: I said that I hadn't forgotten what Grand- 
father is. You're telling me what he was. He is an 
old man of ninety. I'm twenty. Anything that I do 
will affect him for at most five years. It will affect 
me for fifty years. That's why I say this has nothing 
to do with Grandfather. 

Marion: (Distressed.) Septima, sometimes you al- 
most seem as if you were irreligious. When you think 
who Gra.ndfather is — and his birthday too. {Weakly.) 
You must talk to your Father. 

Septima: That's better. Father's only sixty. 

Marion: You must talk to your Father. He will 
see what Grandfather says. 

Septima: And there we are — back again to ninety! 
It's always the way. 

Marion: {Plaintively.) I really don't understand 
you children. You ought to be proud of living in the 
house of such a great man. I don't know what Grand- 
father will say when he hears about it. {Tearfully.) 
The Reverend William Styles, Hockly Vicarage, 
Bishops Stortford. 

Septima: {Thoughtfully.) I suppose Father would 
cut off my allowance if I just went. 

Marion: Went? 

Septima: Yes. Would he? It would be beastly un- 
fair of course, but I suppose he would. 

Marion: Septima, you're not to talk like that. 

Septima: I think I'll get Aunt Isobel to tackle 
Grandfather. She's only forty. Perhaps she could 
persuade him. 



The Truth About Blayds 117 

Marion: I won't hear another word. And ycu had 
better tidy yourself up. I will finish these letters my- 
self. 

Septima: {Going to the door.) Yes, I must go and 
tidy up. {At the door.) But I warn, you Mother, I 
mean to have it out this time. And if Grandfather — 
{She breaks off as her Father comes in.) Oh, Lord! 
{She comes back into the room, making way for him.) 
{William Blayds-Conzvay was obznously meant 
for the Civil Service. His prim neatness, his 
gold pince-ne2, his fiissiness would be invalu- 
able in almost any Department. However, 
running Blayds is the next best thing to run- 
ning the Empire.) 

William: What is it, Septima? Where are you go- 
ing? 

Septima: Tidy myself up. 

Wiliam: That's right. And then you might help 
your mother to entertain Mr. Royce until we send for 
him. Perhaps we might — wait a moment 

Marion: Oh, have you seen Mr. Royce, William? 
He seems a nice young man, doesn't he? I'm sure 
Grandfather will like him. 

William: I still think that it was very unwise of us 
to attempt to see anybody today. Naturally I made 
it clear to Mr. Royce what a very unexpected departure 
this is from our usual practice. I fancy that he realises 
the honour which we have paid to the younger school of 
writers. Those who are knocking at the door, so to 
speak, 

Marion: Oh, I'm sure he does. 
Septima: Does anybody want me? 
William: Wait a moment, please. {He takes a key 
out of his pocket and considers.) Yes . . . Yes . . . 



ii8 The Truth About Blayds 

(He gives the key to Septima.) You may show Mr. 
Royce the autograph letter from Queen Victoria, on 
the occasion of your Grandmother's death. Be very 
careful, please. I think he might be allowed to take 
it in his hands — don't you think so, Marion ? — but lock 
it up immediately afterwards, and bring me back the 
key, 

Septima: Yes, Father. {As she goes.) What fun 
he's going to have ! 

William : Are those the letters ? 

Marion: Yes, dear, I've nearly finished them. 

William: They will do afterwards. (Handing her 
a bunch of telegrams.) I want you to sort these tele- 
grams. Isobel is seeing about the flowers? 

Marion: Oh, yes, sure to be, dear. How do you 
mean, sort them ? 

William: In three groups will be best. Those from 
societies or public bodies, those from distinguished 
people, including Royalty — you will find one from the 
Duchess there; her Royal Highness is very faithful to 
us — and those from unknown or anonymous admirers. 

Morion: Oh, yes, I see, dear. (She gets to work.) 

William: He will like to know who have remem- 
bered him. I fancy that we have done even better than 
we did on the eightieth birthday, and of course the day 
is not yet over. (He walks about arranging things.) 

Marion: Yes, dear. 

William: (Frozvning anxiously.) What did we do 
last year about drinking the health? Was it in here, 
or did we go to his room ? 

Marion: He was down to lunch last year. Don't 
you remember, dear? 

William: Ah, yes, of course. Stupid of me. Yes, 
this last year has made a great difference to him. He 



The Truth About Blayds 119 

is breaking up, I fear. We cannot keep him with us 
for many more birthdays. 

Marion: Don't say that, dear. 

William: Well, we can but do our best. 

Marion: What would you like to do, dear, about 
the health ? 

William: H'm. Let me think. (He thinks.) 

Marion: (Busy with the telegrams.) Some of these 
are a little difficult. Do you think that Sir John and 
Lady Wilkins would look better among the distin- 
guished people including Royalty, or with the unknown 
and anonymous ones? 

William: Anybody doubtful is unknown. I only 
want a rough grouping. We shall have a general ac- 
knowledgment in the Times. And oh, that reminds me. 
I want an announcement for the late editions of the 
evening papers. Perhaps you had better just take this 
down. You can finish those afterwards. 

Marion: Yes, dear. (She gets ready.) Yes, 
dear? 

William: Oliver Blayds, ninety today. 

Marion: (Writing.) Oliver Blayds, ninety today. 

William: The veteran poet spent his ninetieth birth- 
day 

Marion: (To herself.) The veteran poet 

William: Passed his ninetieth birthday — that's bet- 
ter — passed his ninetieth birthday quietly, amid his 
family 



Marion: Amid his family 

William: At his well-known house — residence — in 
Portman Square. (In his conversational voice.) We 
will drink the health in here. See that there is an ex- 
tra glass for Mr. Royce. "In Portman Square" — have 
you got that ? 



120 The Truth About Blayds 

Marion: Yes, dear. 

William: Mr. William Blayds-Conway, who cour- 
teously gave — granted our representative an interview, 
informed us that the poet is in good health — It's a 
pity you never learnt shorthand, Marion. 

Marion: I did try, dear. 

William: Yes, I know ... in good health 

Marion: Good health 

William: And keenly appreciative of the many 
tributes of affection which he had received. 

Marion: Which he had received. 

William: Among those who called during the day 
were 



Marion: Yes, dear? 

William: Fill that in from the visitors' book. (He 
holds out his hand for the paper.) How does that go? 

Marion: (Giving it to him.) I wasn't quite sure 
how many "p's" there were in appreciative. 

William : Two. 

Marion: Yes, I thought two was safer. 

William: (Handing it back to her.) Yes, that's all 
right. (Bringing out his keys.) I shall want to make 
a few notes while Mr. Royce is being received. It 
may be that Oliver Blayds will say something worth 
recording. One would like to get something if it were 
possible. (He Jias unlocked a drawer in the table and 
brought otit his inanuscript book.) And see that that 
goes off now. I should think about eight names. Say 
three Society, three Artistic and Literary, and two 
Naval Military and Political. Perhaps two Society 
would be enough. 

Marion: Yes, dear. (Beginning to make for the 
door.) Will there be anything else you'll want? 
(Holding out the paper.) After I've done this? 



The Truth About Blayds 121 

William: (Considering.) No. ... no ... . I'm 
coming with you. (Taking out his keys.) I must get 
the port. ( William opens the door for her and they go 
out together.) 

(The room is empty for a moment, and then 
Isabel comes in. She is nearly forty. Yon 
can see hozv lovely she was at twenty, but she 
gave up being lovely eighteen years ago, said 
good-bye to Isabel, and became just Nurse. 
If Blayds wants cheerfulness, she is cheerful; 
if sympathy, sympathetic; if interest, inter- 
ested. She is off duty now, and you can see 
how tired she is. But she has some spiritual 
comfort, some secret pride to sustain her, and 
it is only occasionally that the tiredness, the 
deadness, shows through. She has flowers 
in her arms, and slowly, thoughtfully, she 
decks the room for the great man. We see 
nozv for a moment, that she is much older 
than we thought; it is for her ozvn ninetieth 
birthday that she is decorating the room 
.... Nozv she has finished, and she sits 
down, her hands in her lap, zvaiting, waiting 
patiently .... Some thought brings a wist- 
ful smile to her mouth. Yes, she must have 
been very lovely at tzventy. Then Royce 
comes in.) 

Royce: Oh, I beg your pardon. (He sees zvho if 
is.) bhi 

Isabel: It's all right, I — Are you waiting to see — 
(She recognises him.) Oh! 

(They stand looking at each other, about six 
feet apart, not moving, saying nothing. Then 
very gently he begins to hum the refrain of 



122 The Truth About Blayds 



a waltz. You can see that she is remember- 
ing.) 
Isabel: How long ago was it? 
Eighteen years. 
(Who has lived fifty years since then.) So 



Royce: 
Isabel : 
little? 
Royce: 
Isabel: 
Royce: 
Isabel: 



( Distressed. ) Isobel ! 
(Remembering his name now.) Austin. 
It comes back to you? 
A few faded memories — and the smell of 
the pine woods. And there was a band, wasn't there ? 
That was the waltz they played. Hozif did it go? 
(He gives her a bar or two again.) 

(She nods.) Yes. (She whispers the tune to her- 
self.) Why does that make me think of — Didn't you 
cut your wrist? On the rocks? 

Royce: You remember? (He holds out his wrist.) 
Look! 

Isobel: (Nodding.) I knew that came into it. I 
tied it up for you. 

Royce: (Sentimentally.) I have the handkerchief 
still. (More honestly.) Somewhere ... I know I 
have it. (He tries to think where it would be.) 

Isobel: There was a dog, wasn't there? 

Royce: How well you remember. Rags. A fox 
terrier. 

Isobel: 

Royce: 
fore that. 

Isobel: 

Royce: 

Isobel: (Smiling.) Thomas. Yes 



(Doubtfully.) Yes? 

Or was that later ? I had an Aberdeen be- 



Yes, that was it, I think. 
Thomas. 
( Stniling. ) Thomas. 



Only 



eighteen little years ago. But what worlds away. Just 



The Truth About Blayds 123 

give me that tune again. (He gives it to her.) You 
had a pipe you were very proud of — with a cracked 
bowl — and a silver band to keep it together. What 
silly things one remembers . . . you'd forgotten it. 
Royce: I remember that pink cotton dress. 

Isabel: Eighty years ago. Or is it only eighteen? 
And now we meet again. You married? I seem to 
remember hearing. 

Royce: {Uncomfortably.) Yes. 

I sob el: I hope it was happy. 

Royce: No. We separated. 

Isobel: I am sorry. 

Royce: Was it likely it would be? 

Isobel: {Surprised.) Was that all the chance of 
happiness you gave her? 

Royce: You think I oughtn't to have married? 

Isobel: Oh, my dear, who am I to order people's 
lives ? 

Royce: You ordered mine. 

Isobel: But you have been happy? Marriage isn't 
everything. You have been happy in your work, in 
your books, in your friends? 

Royce: {After thinking.) Yes, Isobel, on the 
whole, yes. 

Isobel: I'm glad . . . {She holds out her hand sud- 
denly with a smile.) How do you do, Mr. Royce? 
{She is inviting him to step off the sentimental foot- 
ing.) 

Royce: {Stepping off.) How do you do. Miss 
Blayds. It's delightful to meet you again. 

Isobel: Let's sit down, shall we? 
{They sit down together.) 



124 The Truth About Blayds 

My Father will be coming in directly. You are here 
to see him, of course? 

Royce: Yes. Tell me about him — or rather about 
yourself. You are still looking after him ? 

Isabel: Yes. 

Royce: For eighteen years. 

Isabel: Nearly twenty altogether. 

Rayce: And has it been worth it? 

Isabel: He has written wonderful things in those 
twenty years. Not very much, but very wonderful. 

Royce: Yes, that has always been the miracle about 
him, the way he has kept his youth. And the fire and 
spirit of youth. You have helped him there. 

Isabel: {Proudly.) Has it been worth it ? 

Royce: {Puzzled.) I don't know. It's difficult to 
say. The world would think so; but I — naturally I 
am prejudiced. 

Isabel: Yes. 

Royce: (Smiling.) You might have looked after 
me for those eighteen years. 

Isabel: Did you want it as much as he? (As he 
protests.) No, I don't mean "want" it — need it. 

Royce: Well, that's always the problem, isn't it — 
whether the old or the young have the better right to 
be selfish. We both needed you, in different ways. You 
gave yourself to him, and he has wasted your life, I 
don't think / should have wasted it. 

Isabel: I am proud to have helped him. No one 
will know. Everything which he wrote will be his. 
Only / shall know how much of it was mine. Well, 
that's something. Not wasted. 

Royce: Sacrificed. 

Isabel: Am I to regret that? 



The Truth About Blayds 125 

Roycef Do you regret it? 

Isabel: {After considering.) When you asked me 
to marry you I — I couldn't. He was an old man then ; 
he wanted me, I was everything to him. Oh, he has 
had his friends, more friends than any man, but he 
had to be the head of a family too, and without me 
— I've kept him alive, active. He has sharpened his 
brains on me. (With a shrug.) On whom else? 

Roycc: Yes, I understand that. 

Isabel: You wouldn't have married me and come to 
live with us all, as Marion and William have done? 

Royce: No, no, that's death. 

Isabel: Yes. I knew you felt like that. But I 
couldn't leave him. 

(Royce shrugs his shoulders unconvinced.) 

Oh, I did love you then, I did want to marry you ! 
But I couldn't. He wasn't just an ordinary man — you 

must remember that, please. He was Blayds 

Oh, what are we in the world for but to find beauty, 
and who could find it as he, and who could help him 
as I? 

Royce: I was ready to wait. 

Isabel: Ah, but how could we? Until he died! 
Every day you would be thinking, "I wonder how he 
is today," and I should be knowing that you were 
thinking that. Oh, horrible! Sitting and waiting for 
his death. 

Royce: (Thoughtfully, recognising her point of 
view.) Yes , . , Yes . . . But if you were back 
now, knowing what you know, would you do it again? 

Isabel: I think so. I think it has been worth it. 
It isn't fair to ask me. I'm glad now that I have given 
him those eighteen years, but perhaps I should have 
been afraid of it if I had known it was to be as long 



126 The Truth About Blayds 

as that. It has been trying, of course — such a very old 
man in body, although so young in mind — but it has not 
been for an old man that I have done it ; not for a selfish 
Father ; but for the glorious young poet who has never 
grown up, and who wanted me. 

Royce: {Looking into her soul.) But you have had 
your bad moments. 

Isobel: (Distressed.) Oh, don't! It isn't fair. 

(Royce, his eyes still on her, begins the refrain 
again. ) 

Isobel: (Smiling sadly.) Oh, no, Mr. Royce! 
That's all over. I'm an old woman now. 

Royce: (Rather ashamed.) I'm sorry . . . Yes, 
you're older now. 

Isobel: Twenty and thirty-eight — there's a world of 
difference between them. 

Royce: I'm forty. 

Isobel: (Smiling.) Don't ask me to pity you. 
What's forty to a man? 

Royce: You're right. In fact I'm masquerading 
here today as one of the younger writers. 

Isobel: Father likes to feel that he is admired by 
the younger writers. So if you've brought all their 
signatures with you, he'll be pleased to see you, Mr. 
Royce. I had better give you just one word of warn- 
ing. Don't be too hard on the 1863 volume. 

Royce: 1 shan't even mention it. 

Isobel: But if he does — ? It has been attacked so 
much that he has a sort of mother love for it now, and 
even I feel protective towards it, and want to say, 
"Come here, darling, nobody loves you." Say some- 
thing kind if you can. Of course I know it isn't his 
best, but when you've been praised as much as he, the 



The Truth About Blayds 127 

little praise which is with-held is always the praise you 
want the most. 

Royce: How delightfully human that sounds. That 
is just what I've always felt in my own small way. 
{William comes fussily in.) 

William: Is Mr. Royce — ? Ah, there you are! 
{Looking round the room.) You've done the flowers, 
Isobel ? That's right. Well, Mr. Royce, I hope they've 
been looking after you properly. 

Royce: Oh, yes, thanks, 

William: That's right. Isobel, {Looking at his 
watch) — in five minutes shall we say? 

Isobel: Yes. 

William: How is he just now? 

Isobel: He seems better today. 

William: That's right. We shall drink the health 
in here. 

Isobel: Very well. 
{She goes out.) 

William: A little custom we have, Mr. Royce. 

Royce: Oh, yes. 

William: We shall all wish him many happy re- 
turns of the day — you understand that he isn't dressed 
now until the afternoon — and then I shall present you. 
After that we shall all drink the health — you will join 
us, of course. 

Royce: {Smiling.) Certainly. 

William: Then, of course, it depends how we are 
feeling. We may feel in the mood for a little talk, or 
we may be too tired for anything more than a few 
words of greeting. You have the Address with you ? 

Royce: Yes. {Looking about him.) At least I 
put it down somewhere. 



128 The Truth About Blayds 

William: (Scandalised.) You put it down — some- 
where! My dear Mr. Royce, (He looks about anx- 
iously) — at any moment now — (He looks at his 
match.) Perhaps I'd better — 

(A Maid comes in with the port and glasses.) 

Parsons, have you seen a — (He makes vague rectan- 
gular shapes with his hands.) 

Royce: Here it is. 

William: Ah, that's right. (As the Maid puts the 
tray down. ) Yes, there I think, Parsons. How many 
glasses have you brought ? 

Parsons: Seven, sir. 

William: There should be six. One — two — three — 

Parsons: Madam said seven, sir. 

William: Seven, yes, that's right. When I ring the 
bell, you'll tell Miss Isobel that we are ready. 

Parsons: Yes, sir. 

(She goes out, making way for Marion, Sep- 
tima and Oliver as she does so.) 

William: Ah, that's right. Now then, let me see 
. , . I think — Marion, will you sit here? Septima, 
you there, Oliver — Oliver, that's a very light suit 
you're wearing. 

Oliver: It's a birthday. Father, not a funeral. 

William: (With dignity.) Yes, but whose birth- 
day? Well, it's too late now — you sit there. Mr. 
Royce, you sit next to me so that I can take you up. 
Now are we all ready? 

Septima: (Wickedly.) Wait a moment. (She 
blows her nose.) Right. 

William: All ready? (He rings the 'beil with an 
air.) 

( There is a solemn silence of expectation. Then 



The Truth About Blayds 129 

Oliver shifts a leg and catches his ankle 
against Septima's chair.) 
Oliver: Damn! Oo! {He rubs his ankle. \ 
William: S'sh! 

{There is another solemn silence and then ths 
Maid opens the door. Blayds in an invalid 
chair is wheeled in by Isabel. They all stand 
up. With his long white beard, his still 
plentiful white hair curling over his ears, 
Oliver Blayds does indeed "look like some- 
body." Only his eyes, tinder their shaggy 
brows, are still young. Indomitable spirit 
and humour gleam in them. With all the dig- 
nity, majesty even, which he brings to the 
part, you feel that he realises zuhat great fun 
it is being Oliver Blayds.) 
Blayds: Good day to you all. 
Marion: {Going fonvard and kissing his fore- 
head.) Many happy returns of the day, Father. 

Blayds: Thank you, Marion. Happy, I hope; many, 
I neither expect nor want. 

{William, who is just going fonvard, stops for 
a moment to jot this down on his shirt cuff. 
Then, beckoning to Royce to follozv him, he 
approaches. ) 
William : My heartiest congratulations, sir. 
Blayds: Thank you, William. When you are 
ninety, I'll do as much for you. 

William: {Laughing heartily.) Ha, ha! Very 
good, sir. May I present Mr. A. L. Royce the well- 
known critic. 

Blayds: {Looking thoughtfully at Royce.) We 
have met before, Mr. Royce? 

Royce: At Bournemouth, sir. Eighteen years ago. 



130 The Truth About Blayds 

Blayds: (Nodding.) Yes. I remember. 

William: Wonderful, wonderful! 

Blayds: (Holding out his hand.) Thank you for 
wasting your time now on an old man. You must 
stay and talk to me afterwards. 

Royce: It's very kind of you, sir. I 

William: Just a moment, Mr. Royce. (He indi- 
cates Septima and Oliver.) 

Royce: Oh, I beg your pardon. (He steps on one 
side. ) 

William: (In a whisper.) Septima. 

Septima: (Coming forward.) Congratulations, 
Grandfather. (She bends her head, and he kisses her.) 

Blayds: Thank you, my dear. I don't know what 
I've done, but thank you. 

Oliver: (Coming forward.) Congratulations, 
Grandfather. (He bends down and Blayds puts a hand 
on his head.) 

Blayds: Thank you, my boy, thank you. (Wisf- 
ftdly.) I was your age once. 

(William who has been very busy pouring out 
port now gets busy distributing it. When 
they are all ready he holds up his glass. ) 

William: Are we all ready? 
(They are.) 

Blayds ! 

All: Blayds! 

(They drink.) 

Blayds: (Moved as always by this.) Thank you, 
thank you. (Recovering himself .) Is that the Jubilee 
port, William? 

William: Yes, sir. 

'Blayds: (Looking wistfully at Isabel.) May I? 



The Truth About Blayds 131 

Isohel: Yes, dear, if you like. William 



William: {Anxiously.) Do you think — ? {She 
nods and he pours out a glass.) Here you are, sir. 

Blayds: {Taking it in rather a shaky hand.) Mr. 
Royce, I will drink to you; and, through you, to all 
that eager youth which is seeking, each in his own way, 
for beauty. {He raises his glass.) May they find it 
at the last! {He drinks.) 

Royce: Thank you very much, sir. I shall remem- 
ber. 

William: Allow me, sir. {He recovers Blayds' 
glass.) Marion, you have business to attend to? 
Oliver — ? Septima — ? 

Marion: Yes, dear. {Cheerfully to Blayds.) We're 
going now. Grandfather. 

Blayds: {Nodding.) I shall talk a little to Mr. 
Royce. 

Marion: That's right, dear, don't tire yourself. 
Come along, children. 

{Oliver comes along. Septima hesitates. She 
"means to have it out this time.") 

Septima: {Irresolutely.) Grandfather 

Blayds: Well? 

Marion: Come along, dear. 

Septima: {Over-awed by the majesty of Blayds.) 
Oh— all right. 

{The Three of them go out.) 

William: {In a whisper to Royce.) The Address? 
( To Blayds.) Mr. Royce has a message of congratula- 
tion from some of the younger writers, which he wishes 

to present to you, sir. Mr. Royce 

{Royce comes forward with it.) 

Blayds: It is very good of them. 



132 The Truth About Blayds 

Royce: {Doubtfully.) Shall I read it, sir? 
Blayds: (Smiling.) The usual thing? 
Royce: {Smiling too.) Pretty much. A little bet- 
ter than usual, I hope, because I wrote it. 

{William is now at the writing-table, waiting 
hopefully for crumbs.) 

Blayds: {Holding out his hand.) Give it to me. 
And sit down, please. Near me. I don't hear too 
well. {He takes the book and glances at it.) Pretty. 
{He glances at some of the names and says, with a 
pleased smile.) I didn't think they took any interest 
in an old man. Isobel, you will read it to me after- 
wards, and tell me who they all are? 

Isobel: Yes, dear. 

Blayds: Will that do, Mr. Royce? 

Royce: Of course, sir ... I should just like you to 
know, to have the privilege of telling you here, and on 
this day, that every one of us there has a very real ad- 
miration for your work and a very real reverence for 
yourself. And we feel that in signing, we have done 
honour to ourselves, rather than honour to Blayds, 
whom no words of ours can honour as his own have 
done. 

Blayds: Thank you . . . You must read it to me, 
Isobel. {He gives her the book.) A very real ad- 
miration for all my work, Mr. Royce? 

Royce: Yes, sir. 

Blayds: Except the 1863 volume? 

Royce: I have never regretted that, sir. 

Blayds: {Pleased.) Ah! You hear, Isobel? 

Royce: I don't say that it is my own favourite, but 
I could quite understand if it were the author's. There 
are things about it 



The Truth About Blayds 133 

Blayds: Isobel, are you listening? 

Isobel: (Smiling.) Yes, Father. 

Royce: Things outside your usual range, if I may 



say so 

Blayds: {Nodding and chuckling.) You hear, Iso- 
bel ? Didn't I always tell you ? Well, well, we mustn't 
talk any more about that . . . William! 

IVilliam: {Jumping up.) Sir? 

Blayds: What are you doing? 

William: Just finishing off a few letters, sir. 

Blayds: Would you be good enough to bring me my 
Sordello. 

IVilliam: The one which Browning gave you, sir? 

Blayds: Of course. I wish to show Mr. Royce the 
inscription — {To Royce.) — an absurd one, all rhymes 
to Blayds. It will be in the library somewhere, it may 
have got moved. 

William: Certainly, sir. 

Isabel: Father 

Blayds: {Holding up a hand to stop her.) Thank 
you, William. 

{William goes out.) 
You were saying, Isobel? 

Isobel: Nothing. I thought it was in your bedroom. 
I was reading to you last night. 

Blayds: {Sharply.) Of course it's in my bedroom. 
But can't I get my son-in-law out of the room if I want 
to? 

Isobel: {Soothingly.) Of course, dear. It was silly 
of me. 

Blayds: My son-in-law, Mr. Royce, meditates after 
my death a little book called "Blaydsiana." He hasn't 
said so, but I see it written all over him. In addition, 



134 The Truth About Blayds 

you understand, to the official life in two volumes. 
There may be another one called "On the Track of 
Blayds in the Cotswolds" but I am not certain of this 
yet. {He chuckles to himself.) 

Isabel: {Reproachfully.) Father! 

Blayds: {Apologetically.) All right, Isobel. Mr. 
Royce won't mind. 

Isobel: {Smiling reluctantly.) It's very unkind. 

Blayds: {After chuckling to himself again.) You 
never knew Whistler, Mr. Royce ? 

Roycc: No, sir, he was a bit before my time. 

Blayds: Ah, he was the one to say unkind things. 
But you forgave him because he had a way with him. 
And there was always the hope that when he had fin- 
ished with you, he would say something still worse 
about one of your friends. {He chuckles to himself 
again.) I sent him a book of mine once — which one 
was it, Isobel? 

Isobel: Helen. 

Blayds: Helen, yes. I got a postcard from him a 
few days later, "Dear Oliver, rub it out and do it 
again." Well, I happened to meet him the next day, 
and I said that I was sorry I couldn't take his advice, 
as it was too late now to do anything about it. "Yes," 
said Jimmie, "as God said when he'd made Swinburne." 

Isobel: You've heard that, Mr. Royce? 

Royce: No. Ought I to have? 

Isobel: It has been published. 

Blayds: {Wickedly.) I told my son-in-law. Any- 
thing which I tell my son-in-law is published. 

Isobel: { To Royce. ) I always say that Father made 
it up. 

Blayds: You didn't know Jimmie, my dear. There 



The Truth About Blayds 135 

was nothing he couldn't have said. But a most stimu- 
lating companion. 

Royce: Yes, he must have been. 

Blayds: So was Alfred. He had a great sense of 
humour. All of us who knew him well knew that. 

Royce: It is curious how many people nowadays 
regard Tennyson as something of a prig, with no sense 
of humour. I always feel that his association with 
Queen Victoria had something to do with it. A court 
poet is so very un-stimulating. 

Blayds: I think you're right. It was a pity. (He 
chuckles to himself. Royce waits expectantly.) I went 
to Court once. 

Royce: (Surprised.) You? 

Blayds: (Nodding.) Yes, I went to Osborne to 
see the Queen. Alfred's doing I always suspected, but 
he wouldn't own to it. (He chuckles.) 

Isabel: Tell him about it, dear. 

Blayds: I had a new pair of boots. They squeaked. 
They squeaked all the way from London to the Isle of 
Wight. The Queen was waiting for me at the end 
of a long room. I squeaked in. I bowed. I squeaked 
my way up to her. We talked. I was not allowed to 
sit down of course; I just stood shifting from one foot 
to the other — and squeaking. She said; "Don't you 
think Lord Tennyson's poetry is very beautiful?" and 
I squeaked and said, "Damn these boots." A gentle- 
man-in-waiting told me afterwards that it was contrary 
to etiquette to start a new topic of conversation with 
Royalty — so I suppose that that is why I have never 
been asked to Court again. 

Isabel: It was your joke. Father, not the gentleman- 
in-waiting's, 

(Blayds chuckles.) 



136 The Truth About Blayds 

Royce: Yes, I'm sure of that. 

Blayds: Isobel knows all my stories . . . When 
you're ninety, they know all your stories. 

Isobel: I like hearing them again, dear, and Mr. 
Royce hasn't heard them. 

Blayds: I'll tell you one you don't know, Isobel. 

Iscfbel: Not you. 

Blayds: Will you bet? 

Isobel: It's taking your money, 

Blayds: Mr, Royce will hold the stakes. A shilling. 

Isobel: You will be ruined. (She takes out her 
purse.) 

Blayds: (Childishly.) Have you got one for me 
too? 

Isobel: (Taking out two.) One for you and one 
for me. Here you are, Mr. Royce. 

Royce: Thank you. Both good ones? Right. 

Blayds: George Meredith told me this. Are you 
fond of cricket, Mr. Royce? 

Royce: Yes, very. 

Blayds: So was Meredith, so was I ... A young 
boy playing for his school. The important match of 
the year; he gets his colours only if he plays — you un- 
derstand? Just before the game began, he was sitting 
in one of those — what do they call them — deck chairs, 
when it collapsed, his hand between the hinges. Three 
crushed fingers ; no chance of playing ; no colours. At 
that age a tragedy ; it seems that one's whole life is over. 
You understand? 

Royce: Yes, Oh, very well. 

Blayds: But if once the match begins with him, he 
has his colours, whatever happens afterwards. So he 
decides to say nothing about the fingers. He keeps his 



The Truth About Blayds 137 

hand in his pocket; nobody has seen the accident, no- 
body guesses. His side is in first. He watches — his 
hand in his pocket. When his turn comes to bat he 
forces a glove over the crushed fingers and goes to 
the wickets. He makes nothing — well, that doesn't 
matter, he is the wicket-keeper and has gone in last. 
But he knows now that he can never take his place in 
the field; and he knows too what an unfair thing he 
has done to his school to let them start their game with 
a cripple. It is impossible now, to confess . . . So, 
in between the innings, he arranges another accident 
with his chair, and falls back on it, with his fingers — 
his already crushed fingers this time — in the hinges. 
So nobody ever knew. Not until he was a man, and it 
all seemed very little and far away. 

Isabel: What a horrible story! Give him the 
money, Mr. Royce. 

Blayds: Keep it for me, Isobel. 

(Isabel takes it.) 

Rayce: Is it true, sir? 

Blayds: So Meredith said. He told me. 

Roycc: Lord, what pluck! I think I should have 
forgiven him for that. 

Blayds: Yes, an unfair thing to do, but having done 
it, he carried it off in the grand manner. 

Isobel: To save himself. 

Blayds: Well, well. But he had qualities. Don't 
you think so, Mr. Royce? 
Royce: I do indeed. 

( There is a silence. The excitement af the occa- 
sion has died away, and you can almost see 
Blayds getting older.) 

Blayds: {After a pause.) I could tell you another 



138 The Truth About Blayds 

story, Isobel, which you don't know ... Of another 
boy who carried it off. 

Isobel: Not now, dear. You mustn't tire yourself. 

Blayds: (A very old man suddenly.) No, not now. 
But I shall tell you one day. Yes, I shall have to tell 
you ... I shall have to tell you. 

Isobel: {Quietly to Royce.) I think perhaps 

Royce: {Getting up.) It is very kind of you to 
have seen me, sir. I mustn't let you get tired of me. 

Blayds: {Very tired.) God-bye, Mr. Royce. He 
liked the 1863 volume, Isobel. 

Isobel: Yes, Father. 

Royce: Good-bye, sir, and thank you, I shall always 
remember. 

Isobel: {In a whisper to Royce.) You can find 
your way out, can't you? I don't like to leave him. 

Royce: Of course. I may see you again? 

Isobel: {Tired.) I am always here. 

Royce: Good-bye. 
{He goes.) 

Blayds: Isobel, where are you? 

Isobel: {At his side again.) Here I am, dear. 

Blayds: How old did you say I was? 

Isobel: Ninety. 

Blayds: Ninety . . . I'm tired. 

Isobel: It has been too much for you, dear, I 
oughtn't to have let him stay so long. You'd like to 
go to bed now, wouldn't you? {She walks away to 
ring the bell.) 

Blayds: {A frightened child.) Where are you go- 
ing? Don't leave me. 

Isobel: {Stopping.) Only to ring the bell, dear. 



The Truth About Blayds 139 

Blayds: Don't leave me. I want you to hold my 
hand. 

Isabel: Yes, dear. (She holds it.) 

Blayds: Did you say I was ninety? There's no go- 
ing back at ninety. Only forward — into the grave 
that's waiting for you. So cold and lonely there, 
Isobel. 

Isabel: I am always with you, dear. 

Blayds: Hold me tight. I'm frightened . . . Did 
I tell you about the boy — who carried it off? 

Isobel: Yes, dear, you told us. 

Blayds: No, not that boy — the other one. Are we 
alone, Isobel? 

Isobel: Yes, dear. 

Blayds: Listen, Isobel. I want to tell 

Isobel: Tell me tomorrow, dear. 

Blayds: (In weak anger, because he is frightened.) 
There are no tomorrows when you are ninety . . . 
when you are ninety . . . and they have all left you 
. . . alone. 

Isobel: (Soothingly.) Very well, dear. Tell me 
now. 

Blayds: (Eagerly.) Yes, yes, come closer . . . 
Listen, Isobel. (He draws her still closer and begins.) 
Isobel . . . 

(But we do not hear it until afterwards.) 



ACT II 

Scene: The same room a few days later. 

Oliver comes in dressed in the deepest black, hav- 
ing just returned from the funeral of Oliver 
Blayds. He looks round the room and then up 
at the old gentleman who has now left it forever, 
and draws his first deep breath of freedom. Then 
sitting at his ease on the sofa he takes out a 
cigarette and lights it. 

Oliver: (Blowing out smoke.) Ah! 

(Septima, also of course in mourning, comes 
in.) 

Septima: (Seeing the cigarette.) Hullo! 

Oliver: (A little on the defensizre.) Hullo! 

Septima: I think I'll join you. Got one? 

Oliver: I expect so. (He offers her one.) 

Septima: Thanks. (He lights it for her.) Thanks. 
(She also takes her first deep breath.) Well, that's 
that. 

Oliver: What did you think of it? 

Septima: It's rather awful, isn't it? I mean awe- 
inspiring. 

Oliver: Yes. I don't know why it should be. 
Did you cry? You looked like it once or twice. 

Septima: Yes. Not because it was Grandfather. 
Not because it was Oliver Blayds. But — just because. 

Oliver: Because it was the last time. 

Septima: Yes ... I suppose that's why one cries 

14U 



The Truth About Blayds 141 

at weddings. Or at — no, I've never been to a christen- 
ing. 

Oliver: You have. And I bet you cried. 

Septima: Oh, my own, yes . . . 

Oliver: Wonderful crowd of people. I don't think 
I ever realised before what a great man he was. 

Septima: No, one doesn't . . . 

Oliver: (After a pause.) You know there's a lot 
of rot talked about death. 

Septima: A lot of rot talked about everything. 

Oliver: Here was Oliver Blayds — the greatest man 
of his day — seen everything, known everybody, ninety 
years old, honoured by all — and then he goes out. 
Well! 

Septima: Nothing is here for tears, in fact. 

Oliver: Not only nothing for tears, but everything 
for rejoicings. I don't understand these religious peo- 
ple. They're quite certain that there's an after life, 
and that this life is only a preparation for it — like a 
cold bath in the morning to the rest of the day. And 
yet they are always the people who make the most 
fuss, and cover themselves with black, and say, "Poor 
grandfather" ever after. Why poor? He is richer 
than ever according to them. 

Septima: Can't you see Oliver Blayds in Heaven en- 
joying it all? What poetry he would make of it! 

Oliver: "A Child's Thoughts on Waking"— eh? 
I've laughed at it, and loathed it, but it was the real 
stuff, you know. What's the text — "Except ye be born 
again as a little child, ye shall not enter into the King- 
dom of Heaven" — is that right? His thoughts — on 
waking in Heaven. 

Septima: (Thoughtfully.) Septima Blayds-Con- 
way. It's rather a thing to be, vou know. 



142 The Truth About Blayds 

Oliver: I used to think once that when the old boy 
died, I'd chuck the Blayds and just be plain Oliver 
Conway. I'm beginning to think I was wrong . . , 
Oliver Blayds-Conway. 

Septima: The well-known statesman. Sorry, I 
mean engineer. 

Oliver: Well, I wonder about that. 
Septima: What sort of wondering? 

Oliver: Things will be a bit different now. I'm the 
only genuine Blayds left 

Septima: Oh, indeed! 

Oliver: You know what I mean, male Blayds. And 
it's rather up to me not to let the old man down. Oliver 
Blayds-Conway M. P. There's something in it, you 
know. I was thinking about it in the Church. Or 
should I drop the Conway and just be Blayds. Or 
Conway Blayds and drop the Oliver? It's a bit of a 
problem. 

Septima: I shall keep the Blayds when I marry. 
Drop the Conway, of course. 

Oliver: It's a dirty game, politics, but that's all the 
more reason why there should be some really good 
people in it. Irreproachable people, I mean. Conway 
Blayds . . .{And the Duke of Devonshire, and so 
forth.) 

Septima: {After a pause.) I wonder what Aunt 
Isobel wants to talk to us all about. 

Oliver: The old man's last dying instructions or 
something. I was rather hoping to get down to the 
Oval. I've got the day off. Bit of a change to go to 
the Oval when you really have buried your Grand- 
father. But perhaps I ought to be careful if I'm going 
in seriously for politics. 



The Truth About Blayds 243 

Septima: Noll, have you realised that it's all going 
to be rather interesting now? 

Oliver: Of course it is. But why particularly? 

Septima: Father. 

Oliver: You mean he's lost his job. 

Septima: Yes. It's terribly exciting when your 
Father's out of work. 

Oliver: He'll have more work than ever. He'll 
write Blayds' life. That'll take him years. 

Septima: Yes, but, don't you see, he hasn't any real 
standing now. Who is he? Only Blayds' late secre- 
tary. Whose house is this now, do you think? 

Oliver: Depends how the old man left it. 

Septima: Of course it does. But you can be quite 
sure he didn't leave it to Father. I think it's all going 
to be rather exciting. 

Oliver: Well, you won't be here to see it, my child. 

Septima: Why not? 

Oliver: I thought you were going to live with that 
Ferguson girl. 

Septima: Not so sure now. There's no hurry any- 
way. I think I'll wait here a bit, and see what hap- 
pens. It's all going to be so different. 

Oliver: It is. {He smiles at his thoughts.) 

Septima: What? 

Oliver: (Smiling broadly.) It's just on the cards 
that it's my house now. {Looking round the room.) 
I don't think I shall let Father smoke in here. 

Septima: What fun that would be ... I hope he's 
left Aunt Isobel something. 

Oliver: Yes, poor dear, she's rather in the air, isn't 
she? 

Septima: It's funny how little we know her. 



144 The Truth About Blayds 

Oliver: We've hardly ever seen her, apart from the 
old man. I don't suppose there's much to know. A 
born nurse and that's all there is to it. 

Septima: Perhaps you're right. 

Oliver: I'm sure I am. 

( William and Marion come on. ) 

William: {Continuing a conversation which has 
obviously been going on since Blayds died.) I say 
again, Oliver Blayds ought to have been buried in the 
Abbey. The nation expected it. The nation had the 
right to it. 

Marion: Yes, dear, but we couldn't go against his 
own wish. His last wish. 

William: If it was his wish, why did he not express 
it to me? 

Marion: He told Isobel, dear. 

William: So we are to believe. And of course I 
was careful to let the public understand that this was 
so in my letter to the Times. But in what circum- 
stances did he express the wish? (He suddenly 
realises Oliver's cigarette and says sharply — ) Oliver, 
you know quite well that your Grandfather — (But 
then he remembers where Grandfather is.) 

Oliver: (Not understanding.) Yes? 

Marion: I think Father meant — Of course Grand- 
father can't see you now — not to mind. 

William: I should have thought your instinct would 
have told you that this is hardly the moment, when 
Oliver Blayds is just laid to rest 

Marion: Your cigarette, dear. 

Oliver: Oh! (He throws it away.) Sorry, Moth- 
er, if you mind. I didn't think it would matter either 
way — now. 



The Truth About Blayds 145 

Marion: That's all right, dear. 

William: As I was saying, in what circumstances 
did he express the wish? 

Marion: What, dear? 

William: On his death-bed, his faculties rapidly go- 
ing, he may have indicated preference for a simple 
ceremony. But certainly up to a few weeks of his 
passing, although it was naturally a subject which I did 
not care myself to initiate, he always gave me the im- 
pression that he anticipated an interment in the Abbey. 

Marion: Yes, dear. I daresay I shall feel it more 
later, but just now I like to think of him where he 
wanted to be himself. 

S optima: After all, Shakespeare isn't buried in the 
Abbey. 

William: I don't think that that has anything to 
do with it, Septima. I am not saying that the reputa- 
tion of Oliver Blayds will suffer by reason of his 
absence from the national Valhalla ; he has built his 
own monument in a thousand deathless lines ; but 
speaking as an Englishman, I say that the Abbey 
had a right to him. 

Marion: Well, it's too late now, dear, 

William: I shall speak to Isobel again; I still feel 
sure she was mistaken. 

Marion: Very well, dear. But don't worry her 
more than you need. I feel rather uneasy about her. 
She has been so strange since he died. 

William: She will be worried enough as it is. Of 
all the extraordinary wills to make ! 

{Oliver and Septima exchange glances.) 

Oliver: Why, what's he done? We were wonder- 
ing about that. 



146 The Truth About Blayds 

William: Yes, yes, yes, you will know in good 
time, my boy. 

Oliver: Why not now? This seems a very good 
time. 

Septima: Are we too young to be told? 

William: {Ignoring them.) Marion, don't let me 
forget that message to the public — returning thanks 
for their sympathy and so on. {Moving to the desk.) 
We might draft that now. 

Marion: Yes, dear. 

Septima: Oliver was asking you about the will, 
Father. 

William: Yes, yes, another time. Alarion 

Oliver: I suppose I am mentioned in it? 

William: Of course, of course. 

Oliver: To what extent? 

{William is too busy to answer.) 

Septima: Father, don't be so childish. 

William: {Outraged.) Septima! 

Marion: Septima dear, you oughtn't to talk to your 
father like that. 

William: {With dignity.) I think you had better 
go to your room. 

Septima: {Unmoved.) But that's the whole point. 
Is it my room? 

{William looks bewildered.) 
Or is it Oliver's, or Mother's, or Aunt Isobel's? 

Oliver: I believe he has left everything to Aunt 
Isobel. 

Marion: Oh, no, dear, he wouldn't do that. He 
would never have favourites. Share and share alike. 

Septima: Half for you and half for Aunt Isobel? 



The Truth About Blayds 147 

Marion: Of course, dear. And all to you and 
Oliver after our death. And something down to you 
now. I forget how much. (To William.) What 
was it, dear? 

William: (Sulkily.) A thousand pounds each. 

Oliver: Sportsman! What about you, Father? 
Do you get anything? 

Marion: Father gets a thousand, too. 

Septima: Then why "of all the extraordinary 
wills—"? 

Marion: It's because of Aunt Isobel being made 
sole executor — literary executor too — isn't that it, 
dear? 

William: (Mumbling.) Yes. 

Oliver: Oho! Meaning that she runs Blayds now? 
New editions, biographies, unpublished fragments, 
and all the rest of it? 

Marion: Naturally she will leave it in Father's 
hands. But of course Father is a little hurt that Grand- 
father didn't think of that for himself. 

Oliver: Oh well, I don't suppose it matters much. 
Then that's why she wants to see us all now. 

( William grunts assent; and stands up as Isobel 
comes in.) • 

William: Ah, here you are. 

Isobel: Fm sorry if I have kept you waiting. 

Marion: It's all right, dear. 

William: I was just telling Marion that I am more 
than ever convinced that Oliver Blayds' rightful rest- 
ing place was the Abbey. 

Isobel: (Shaking her head wearily.) No. 

William: I was saying to Marion, even if he ex- 



148 The Truth About Blayds 

pressed the wish in his last moments for a quiet inter- 
ment 

Isabel: He never expressed the wish, one way or 
the other. 

William: My dear Isobel! You distinctly told 
us 

Marion: You did say, dear. 

Isobel: Yes, I owe you an apology about that. 

William: (Indignantly.) An apology! 

Isobel: There is something I have to tell you all. 
Will you please listen, all of you? Won't you sit down, 
William? 

( They sit down. ) 

Marion: What is it, dear? 

William: You've been very mysterious these last 
few days. 

Isobel: I didn't want to say anything until he had 
been buried. I shall not be mysterious now; I shall 
be only too plain. 

Septima: {To Oliver.) I say, what's up? 
( Oliver shrugs his shoulders. ) 

William: Well? 

Isobel: I told you that Father didn't want to be 
buried in the Abbey, not because he had said so, but 
because it was quite impossible that he should be buried 
in the Abbey. 

William: Impossible! 

Marion: I'm sure the Dean would have been only — 

Isobel: Impossible because he had done nothing to 
make him worthy of that honour. 

William: Well! 

Oliver: Oh no. Aunt Isobel, you're wrong there. I 
mean when you think of some of the people 



The Truth About Blayds 149 

Isabel: Will you listen to me, please? And ask any 
questions afterwards. You may think I'm mad; I'm 
not ... I wish I were. 
William: Well, what is it? 

(She tells them; it is almost as if she were re- 
peating a lesson which she had learnt by heart. 
Blayds, you may be sure, made a story of it 
when he told her — we seem to hear snatches 
of that story now.) 
Isobel: Nearly seventy years ago there were two 
young men, boys almost, twenty-three perhaps, living 
together in rooms in Islington. Both poor, both eager, 
ambitious, certain of themselves, very certain of their 
destiny. But only one of them was a genius. He was 
a poet, this one ; perhaps the greater poet because he 
knew that he had not long to live. As the lark sings, 
so he sang. The poetry came bubbling out of him, and 
he wrote it down feverishly, quick, quick before the 
hand became cold and the fingers could no longer write. 
That was all his ambition. He had no thoughts of 
present fame; there was no time for it. He was con- 
tent to live unknown, so that when dead he might live 
forever. His friend was ambitious in a different way. 
He wanted the present delights of fame. So they lived 
together there, one writing and writing, always writ- 
ing; the other writing and then stopping to think how 
famous he was going to be, and envying those who 
were already famous, and then regretfully writing 
again. A time came when the poet grew very ill, and 
lay in bed, but still writing, but still hurrying, hurrying 
to keep pace with the divine music in his brain. Then 
one day there was no more writing, no more music. 
The poet was dead. (She is silent for a little.) 

William: (As her meaning slowly comes to him.\ 
Isobel, what are you saying? 



150 The Truth About Blayds 

Marion: I don't understand. Who was it? 

Oliver: Good Lord! 

Isabel: (In the same quiet voice.) The friend was 
left — with the body of the poet — and all that great 
monument which the dead man had raised for himself. 
The poet had no friends but this one ; no relations of 
whom he had ever spoken or who claimed him now. 
He was dead, and it was left to his friend to see that 
he won now that immortality for which he had given 
his life . . . His friend betrayed him. 

Septima: I say! 

William: I won't believe it! It's monstrous! 

Marion: I don't understand. 

Isohel: {Wearily.) One can see the temptation. 
There he was, this young man of talent, of great ambi- 
tion, and there were these works of genius lying at his 
feet, waiting to be picked up — and fathered by him. 
I suppose that, like every other temptation, it came 
suddenly. He writes out some of the verses, scribbled 
down anyhow by the poet in his mad hurry, and sends 
them to the publisher; one can imagine the publisher's 
natural acceptance of the friend as the true author, the 
friend's awkwardness in undeceiving him, and then his 
sudden determination to make the most of the oppor- 
tunity given him . . . Oh, one can imagine many 
things — but what remains? Always and always this. 
That Oliver Blayds was not a poet; that he did not 
write the works attributed to him ; and that he be- 
trayed his friend. {She stops and then says in an 
ordinary matter of fact voice.) That was why I 
thought that he ought not to be buried in the Abbey. 

Oliver: Good Lord! 

William: {Sharply.) Is this true, Isobel? 



The Truth About Blayds 151 

Isabel: It isn't the sort of story that I should make 
up. 

Marion: I don't understand. {To William.) What 
is it ? I don't understand. 

William: Isobel is telhng us that OHver Blayds 
stole all his poetry from another man. 

Marion: Stole it! 

William: Passed it off as his own. 

Marion: {Firmly to Isobel.) Oh no, dear, you 
must be wrong. Why should Grandfather want to 
steal anybody else's poetry when he wrote so beautifully 
himself? 

Septima: That's just the point. Mother. Aunt 
Isobel says that he didn't write anything himself. 

Marion: But there are the books with his name 
on them! 

Isobel: Stolen — from his friend. 

Marion: {Shocked.) Isobel, how can you? Your 
own father! 

William: I don't believe it. I had the privilege of 
knowing Oliver Blayds for nearly thirty years and I 
say that I don't believe it. 

Isobel: I knew him for some time too. He was my 
father. 

William: When did he tell you this? 

Oliver: It's a dashed funny thing that 

William: If you will allow me, Oliver. I want to 
get to the bottom of this. When did he tell you? 

Isobel: That last evening. His birthday. 

William: How? Why? Why should he tell you ? 

Isobel: He seemed frightened suddenly — of dying. 
I suppose he'd always meant to tell somebody before 
he died. 



152 The Truth About Blayds 

Marion: Why didn't you tell us before, dear? 

William: (Holding up his hand.) Please. Let 
me. (To Isobel.) Why didn't you tell us before? 

Isohel: I promised not to say anything until he was 
dead. Then I thought I would wait until he was 
buried. 

Marion: You couldn't have made a mistake? You 
couldn't have misunderstood him? 

Isohel: {Smiling sadly.) No. 

William: You say that this other man died — how 
many years ago? 

Isobel: Sixty, seventy. 

William: Ah! (Sarcastically.) And sixty years 
after he was dead, he was apparently still writing poetry 
for Oliver Blayds to steal ? 

Isobel: He had already written it — sixty years ago 
— for Oliver Blayds to steal. 

Oliver: Good Lord! What a man! 

Septima: You mean that his last volume 

William: (Holding up his hand.) Please Septima 
. . . Take this last volume published when he was over 
eighty. You say that everything there had been writ- 
ten by this other man sixty years ago? 

Isobel: Yes. 

William: And the manuscripts were kept by Oliver 
Blayds for sixty years, vn^itten out again by him and 
published in his old age as his own? 

Isobel: Yes. 

William: (Triumphantly.) And can you explain 
how it was that he didn't publish them earlier if he had 
had them in his possession all those years? 

Isobel: He didn't dare to. He was afraid of being 
left with nothing to publish. He took care always to 



The Truth About Blayds 153 

have something in reserve. And that's why everybody 
said how wonderfully vigorous and youthful his mind* 
was at eighty, how amazing that the spirit and fire 
of youth had remained with him so long. Yes, it was 
the spirit and fire of youth, but of a youth who died 
seventy years ago. 

Oliver: (Impressed.) Gad, you know, fancy the 
old chap keeping it up like that. Shows how little one 
really knows people. I had no idea he was such a 
sportsman. 

Septima: Such a liar. 

Oliver: Same thing, sometimes. 

Septima: I call it perfectly disgusting. 

William: Please, please! We shan't arrive at the 
truth like that. {To Isabel.) You want me to under- 
stand that Oliver Blayds has never written a line of 
his own poetry in his life? 

Marion: Why, Grandfather was always writing 
poetry. Even as a child I remember 

Septima: {Impatiently.) Mother, can't you under- 
stand that the Oliver Blayds we thought we knew 
never existed? 

Marion : But I was telling you, dear, that even as a 
child 

Septima: {To Oliver.) It's no good, she's hope- 
lessly muddled. 

William: Yes, yes . . . Do you wish me to under- 
stand 

Isabel: I wish you to know the truth. We've been 
living in a lie, all of us, all our lives, and now at last 
we have found the truth. You talk as if, for some rea- 
son, I wanted to spread slanders about Oliver Blayds 
now that he is dead; as if in some way all this great 



154 The Truth About Blayds 

lie were my doing; as if it were no pain but a sort of 
a pleasure to me to find out what sort of man my 
father really was. Ask me questions — I want you to 
know everything; but don't cross examine me as if I 
were keeping back the truth. 

William: (Upset and apologetic.) Quite so, quite 
so. It's the truth which we want, 

Marion: As Grandfather said so beautifully him- 
self in his Ode to Truth — What are the lines ? 

Septima: (Hopelessly.) Oh, Mother! 

Marion: Yes, and that was what I was going to 
say — could a man who wrote so beautifully about truth 
as Grandfather did, tell lies and deceive people as 
Isobel says he did? (To Isobel.) I'm sure you must 
have made a mistake, dear. 

Oliver: You never told us — what was the other fel- 
low's name? 

William: I am coming to that directly. What I 
am asking you now is this. Did Oliver Blayds write 
no line of poetry himself at all? 

Isobel: He wrote the 1863 Volume. 

William: (Staggered.) Oh! 

Oliver: The wash-out? By Jove! Then that ex- 
plains it ! 

Isobel: Yes, that explains it. He tried to tell him- 
self that he was a poet too; that he had only used the 
other man in order to give himself a start. So he 
brought out a volume of his own poems. And then 
when everybody said "Blayds is finished," he went back 
hastily to his friend and never ventured by himself 
again. And that explains why he resented the criti- 
cism of that volume, why he was so pleased when it 
was praised. It was all that he had written. 



The Truth About Blayds 155 

William: (Defeated now.) Yes, that would ex- 
plain it. ( To himself. ) Oliver Blayds ! . . . 
{They are all silent for a little.) 

Septima: Then he didn't write "Septima." 

Oliver: Of course he didn't. You're illegitimate, 
old girl. 

Septima: Who did? 

Isobel: The other man's name was Jenkins; 

Septima: (In disgust.) Christened after Jenkins! 

Oliver: Oliver Jenkins-Conway M. P., Good Lord! 

Septima: It will have to be Oliver Conway now. 

Oliver: (Gloomily.) Yes, I suppose so. But 
everybody will know. 

William: (Still fighting.) His friends, Isobel. The 
great friends he had had. The stories he has told us 
about them — were those all lies too? No, they couldn't 
have been. I've seen them here myself. 

Marion: Why, I remember going to see Uncle 
Thomas once when I was a little girl — Carlyle — Uncle 
Thomas I called him. 

Oliver: Well, if it comes to that, / can remem- 
ber 

Isobel: Oh, the friends were there. They accepted 
him for what he seemed to be, just as we did. He 
deceived them as cleverly as he deceived us. 

William: Tennyson, Browning, Swinburne 

Isobel: (Bitterly.) Oh, he had his qualities. He 
talked well. There were his books. Why should they 
doubt him? 

William: Yes . . . Yes. 

(There is silence for a little.) 

Marion: (Going over to Isobel and shaking her 
by the arm.) Is it really true what you've been saying? 



156 The Truth About Blayds 

Isabel : Oh, how I wish it weren't. 

Marion: {To William.) /^ it true? 

William: He told her. She wouldn't make it up. 

Marion: But there's all his beautiful poetry. I've 
been brought up to believe in it all my life. I've lived 
on it. And now you've taken him away, and you've 
left — nothing. 

Isabel: Nothing. 

Marion: {Quite lost.) I don't understand. {She 
goes back in a vague, bewildered way to her chair. ) 

Septima: {Suddenly.) The poetry is still there — 
and Jenkins. 

Oliver: Shut up, Tim! 

Septima: Shut up about what? 

Oliver: Jenkins. Don't rub it in. It's much worse 
for Mother than it is for us. 

Septima: Oh, all right! But you don't gain any- 
thing by not being frank about it. 
{There is another silence.) 

Oliver: Good Lord! I've just thought of some- 
thing. 

{They look at him.) 
The money. 

William: The money? 

Oliver: All this. {He indicates the room.) Who 
does it belong to? 

William: According to the provisions of your 
grandfather's will 

Oliver: Yes, but it wasn't his to leave. 

William: Not his to 

Oliver: No, Jenkins. 

Septima: I thought we weren't going to mention 
Mr. Jenkins. 



The Truth About Blayds 157 

Oliver: Shut up, Tim, that's different. (To the 
others.) All this money comes from the books — at 
least I suppose it does — and the books aren't his, so 
the money isn't either. 

William: {Turning in a bewildered way to Isobel.) 
Is that so? 

Isobel: (With a shrug.) I suppose so. 

William : You say he had no family, this other man. 

Isobel: None who bothered about him. But there 
must be relations somewhere. 

William : We shall have to find that out. 

Isobel: Anyhow, as Oliver says, the money isn't 
ours. {Bitterly.) I wouldn't touch a penny. 

William: Some of the money would be rightfully 
his. There was that one volume anyhow. It may not 
have been praised, but it was bought. Then there's 
the question of his investments. It may prove that 
some of his most profitable investments were made 
about that time — with that very money. In which 
case, if it could be established 

Isobel: (Indignantly.) Oh, how can you talk like 
that ! As if it mattered. It's tainted money all of it. 

William: I think that's going too far. Very much 
too far. I recognise of course that we have certain 
obligations towards the relatives of this man — er — Jen- 
kins. Obviously we must fulfil those obligations. But 
when that is done 

Marion: {To Isobel.) We shall be generous of 
course, dear, that's only fair. 

Oliver: Yes, but what are you going to do if no 
relations turn up ? 

William: (Turning doubtfully to Isobel.) Well, 
there is that, of course. 



158 The Truth About Blayds 

Marion: In that case we couldn't do anything, could 
we, dear? 

Isabel: We could throw the money into the sea, 
we could bury it deep in the ground, we could even 
give it away, Marion, 

William: That's going much too far. 

Oliver: It's rather a problem, you know. 

Septima: It isn't a problem at all. May I speak 
for a moment? I really think I have a right to say 
something. 

William: Well? 

Septima: I want to say this. Oliver and I have 
been brought up in a certain way to expect certain 
things. Oliver wanted to be an engineer; he wasn't 
allowed to, as Grandfather wanted him to go into poli- 
tics. I wanted to share a studio with a friend and 
try and get on with my painting; I wasn't allowed to, 
as Grandfather wanted me at home. Perhaps if Oliver 
had been an engineer, he would have been doing well 
by now. Perhaps if I had had my way, I might have 
been earning my living by now. As it is, we have been 
brought up as the children and grandchildren of rich 
people; I can't earn my own living, and Oliver is in a 
profession in which money means success. Aunt 
Isobel has been telling us how a young man of Oliver's 
age, seventy years ago, was cheated out of his rights. 
Apparently she thinks that the best way now of making 
up for that is to cheat Oliver and me out of our rights. 
I don't agree with her. 

Oliz^er: Yes, there's a good deal in that. Well done, 
Tim. 

Isabel: It's hard on you, I know. But you are 
young; you still have your lives in front of you, to 
make what you will of them. 



The Truth About Blayds 159 

Septima: That's what old people always say to 
people of our age, and they seem to think that it excuses 
any injustice. 

Marion: Poor Grandfather! 

Septima: Yes, but I don't see why it should be 
"Poor Oliver" and "Poor Septima" too. Suppose any 
relation did turn up — {To William.) — suppose they 
do. Father. Well, what will they all be? Grand- 
nephews, or fifth cousins twice removed or something, 
who have never heard of Jenkins, who never did any- 
thing for Jenkins, and on whose lives Jenkins has had 
no effect whatever. Is there any sort of justice which 
says that they ought to have the money? But Noll 
and I have given up a good deal for Oliver Blayds, 
and he owes us something. 

Isobel: (With ironic sadness.) Oh, yes, you have 
given up a good deal for Oliver Blayds. It ought to 
be paid back to you. 

William: (Still trying to be fair.) There's another 
thing we must remember. Even if this other man 

Septima: Jenkins. 

William: Yes, even if he wrote all the books — 
always excepting the 1863 volume — even so, it was 
Oliver Blayds who arranged for their publication. He 
could fairly claim therefore an agent's commission on 
all monies received. Ten per cent. 

Isobel: (Scornfully.) Oliver Blayds, the well- 
known commission agent! 

William: Ten per cent, of all monies, therefore, is 
in any case rightfully ours. 

Marion: Only ten per cent, dear. That seems very 
little. 

William: I am working on a minimum basis. Isobel 
says, "Throw all the money into the sea ; it doesn't be- 



i6o The Truth About Blayds 

long to us." I say no, that is going too far. We have 
one volume which is certainly ours. We have the ten 
per cent, commission w^hich is certainly ours. There 
may be other sums due to us, such as the profits of in- 
vestments. We can look into the matter carefully at 
our leisure. The great point, I take it, is that we want 
to be fair to the relatives of this man Jenkins, but also 
fair to the relatives of Oliver Blayds. Who, as Septima 
points out, have at least done something to earn any 
money that comes to them. 

Marion: (To Isohcl.) We want to be fair to 
everybody, dear. 

Septima: Well, I think you are going to give the 
Jenkinses much too much. What right have the Jen- 
kinses got to any of the money which Grandfather 
made by investing? 

Oliver: Well, it was Jenkins' money which was in- 
vested. 

Marion: We shouldn't like to think of them starv- 
ing because we weren't quite fair. 

Septima: They let Jenkins starve. They didn't 
worry about him. 

Oliver: Of course they didn't, they weren't even 
born, 

William: The whole question is extremely difficult. 
We may require an arbitrator, or at any rate a qualified 
chartered accountant. 

Marion: Yes, that would be better, dear. To let 
somebody else decide what is fair and what isn't. 

Isohel: {In a low voice.) Oh, it's horrible . . . 
horrible. 

Marion: What, dear? 

Isohcl: The way you talk — about the money. As 
if all that we had lost was so much money. As if you 



The Truth About Blayds i6i 

could estimate the wrong that Oliver Blayds did to 
his friend in the terms of money. I said the money 
was tainted. It is. How can you bear to touch it? 
How can you bear to profit by such a betrayal ? 

Septima: That's pure sentiment, Aunt Isobel. Quite 
apart from not being reasonable, it isn't even practical. 
Where are you going to draw the line? If you're going 
to throw the money away, then you've got to throw the 
house away and everything in the house away — all our 
clothes to begin with. Because everything — everything 
that belongs to us owes itself to that betrayal of seventy 
years ago . . . We should look very funny, the five 
of us, walking out from the house tomorrow, with 
nothing on, and starting life all over again. 

Marion: Septima dear, I don't think that's quite — 
{Septima begins to laugh to herself at the pic- 
ture of them.) 

Oliver: That isn't fair, Tim. An extreme case 
makes anything seem absurd. {Earnestly to Isabel.) 
You know, I do see what you mean and I do sym- 
pathise. But even if we kept all the money, would 
that matter very much? All this man Jenkins wanted 
was to leave an immortal name behind him. You've 
just told us that nothing else interested him. Jenkins 
— I don't say it's much of a name, but neither was 
Keats for that matter. Well, Grandfather robbed him 
of that, and a damned shame too, but now we are giv- 
ing it back to him. So all that's happened is that he's 
had seventy years less immortality than he expected. 
But he can't worry seriously about that, any more than 
Wordsworth can worry because he was born two 
hundred years after Shakespeare. They are all equally 
immortal. 

Marion: {To Isobel.) You see, dear, that's quite 
fair to everybody. 



1 62 The Truth About Blayds 

Isabel: One can't argue about it; you feel it or you 
don't. And I give up my share of the money, so there 
should be plenty for all of you, even after you have 
been "fair" to the others, 

William: {Who has felt Isabel's scorn deeply.) 
Isobel! I don't think you can realise howr much you 
have hurt me by your words. After the first shock 
of your revelation it has been my one object to keep 
my real feelings, my very deep feelings under control, 
I suppose that this revelation, this appalling revelation, 
has meant more to me than to anyone in this room. 
Put quite simply, it means the end of my life w^ork, 
the end of a career . . , I think you know how I de- 
voted myself to Oliver Blayds 

Marion: Simply devoted himself, dear. 

William: I gave up whatever other ambitions I 
may have had 

Marion: (To the children.) I always said that 
Father could have done anything. 

William: — And I set myself from that day on to 
live for one thing only, Oliver Blayds. It was a great 
pride to me to be his son-in-law, a great pride to be his 
secretary, but the greatest pride of all was the thought 
that I was helping others to know aand to love, as I 
knew and loved him, that very great poet, that very 
great man, Oliver Blayds. You tell me now that he 
is — (He snaps his Ungers.) — nothing. A hollow mask. 
{His voice rises.) I think I have some right to be 
angry, I think I have some right to bear resentment 
against this man who has tricked me, who has been 
making a fool of me for all these years. When I think 
of the years of labour which I have spent already in 
getting the materials together for this great man's life ; 
when I think how I have listened to him and taken down 
eagerly his every word; when I think that tomorrow. 



The Truth About Blayds 163 

I am to be held up to the derision of the world for the 
gullible fool I have shown myself to be, I think I have 
a right to be angry. (With a great eifort he controls 
himself and goes on more quietly.) But I have tried 
to control my feelings. I have remembered that he was 
your father and Marion's father, and I have tried 
to control myself. To forget my own feelings, and 
to consider only how best to clear up this wreckage 
that Oliver Blayds has left behind. It is not for you 
to scorn me, me who have been the chief one to suffer. 

Marion: Poor Father! (She puts out a hand.) 

William: (Patting it.) That's all right. I don't 
want pity. I just want Isobel to try to realise what it 
means to me. 

Oliver: Yes, by Jove, it is a bit rough on the gov- 
ernor. 

Septima: Rough on all of us. 

Marion: But your Father has suffered most. You 
must always remember that. 

Isobel: Poor William! Yes, it is hard on you. 
Your occupation's gone. 

William: It is a terrible blow to us all, this dreadful 
news that you have given us. But you can understand 
that to me it is absolutely crushing. 

Isobel: (In a whisper.) And to me? 
(They look at her in surprise.) 
What has it been to me? 

William: Well, as I was saying 

Isobel: You have enjoyed your life here, yes, every 
moment of it. If you hadn't been secretary to Oliver 
Blayds, you would have been secretary to somebody 
else — it's what you're best fitted for. Yes, you have 



164 The Truth About Blayds 

lived your life; you have had interests, a hundred inter- 
ests every day to keep you active and eager . . . 
(Almost to herself.) But I say, what of me? What 
has my life been? Look at me now — what am I — a 
wasted woman. I might have been a wife, a mother — 
with a man of my own, children of my own, in my own 
home. Look at me now . . . ! 

Marion: My dear, I never dreamt 

Isohel: {Eighteen years away from them all.) 
He asked me to marry him. Tall and straight and 
clean he was, and he asked me to marry him. Ah, how 
happy we should have been together he and I — should 
we not have been happy ? He asked me to marry him. 

Marion: Isobel! 

Isohel: Such a long time ago. I was young then, 
and pretty then, and the world was very full then of 
beautiful things. I used to laugh then — we laughed 
together — such a gay world it was all those years ago. 
And he asked me to marry him . . . {In a hard voice.) 
I didn't. I sent him away. I said that I must stay 
with my Father, Oliver Blayds, the great poet. Yes, 
I was helping the great poet. {With a hitter laugh.) 
Helping! . . . And I sent my man away. 

Septima: {Distressed.) Oh, don't! 

Isohel: You thought I liked nursing. "A born 
nurse" — I can hear you saying it. {Fiercely.) I hated 
it. Do you know what it's like nursing a sick old man 
— day after day, night after night? And then year 
after year. Always a little older, a little more diffi- 
cult. Do you know what it is to live with an old man 
when you are young, as I was young once, to live 
always with old age and never with youth, and to 
watch your own youth graduallv creeping up to join 
his old age? Ah, but I was doing it for Blayds, for 
the sake of his immortal poetry. {She laughs — such a 



The Truth About Blayds 165 

laugh.) And look at me now, all wasted. The wife I 
might have been, the mother I might have been. How 
beautiful the world was, all those years ago! 

( They say nothing, for there is nothing to say. 
Isabel looks in front of her seeing nothing. 
Suddenly a barrel organ begins playing in 
the street outside, dreamily, wistfully, the 
waltz of eighteen years ago. Isobel remem- 
bers and with a sob, drops her face into her 
hands. Very gently the others go out, leav- 
ing her there with her memories. . . ) 



ACT III 

Afternoon, three days later. Royce is at the desk, at 
work on a statement for publication. He has 
various documents at hand, to which he refers 
from time to time. Oliver comes in. 

Oliver: Hullo! 

Royce: (Without looking up.) Hullo! 

Oliver: (After waiting hopefidly.) Very busy! 
(He sits down.) 

Royce: Yes. 

Oliver: Where is everybody? 

Royce: About somewhere. 

Oliver: Oh! , . . I've been away for a couple of 
days. My chief made a speech at Bradford. My God ! 
Just for my benefit he dragged in a reference to Oliver 
Blayds. Also "My God." 

Royce: (Realising suddenly that somebody is talk- 
ing.) Oh! (He goes on with his work.) 

Oliver: Yes, you seem quite excited about it. 

Royce: Sorry, but I've really got rather a lot to do, 
and not too much time to do it in. 

Oliver: Oh! . . . You won't mind my asking, but 
are you living in the house ? 

Royce: Practically. For the last three days. 

Oliver: Oh, I say, are you really? I was being 
sarcastic — as practised by the best politicians. 

Royce: Don't mention it. 

Oliver: What's happened? 

166 



The Truth About Blayds 167 

Royce: Miss Blayds asked me to help her. As you 
know, she is executor to Blayds. Of course your 
father is helping too, but there's a good deal to be done. 

Oliver: I see. {Awkwardly.) I say, I suppose 
you — I mean has she — I mean, what about 

Royce: Miss Blayds has told me. 

Oliver: Oh! Nobody else yet? 

Royce: No. 

Oliver: I've been rushing for the papers every morn- 
ing expecting to see something about it. 

Royce: We want to get everything in order first — 
the financial side of it as well as the other — and then 
make a plain straight-forward statement of what has 
happened and what we propose to do. 

Oliver: Yes, of course you can't just write to the 
Times and say: "Dear Sir, Blayds' poetry was 
written by Jenkins, yours faithfully" . . . When will 
it be, do you think ? 

Royce: We ought to have it ready by tomorrow. 

Oliver: H'm . . . Then I had better start looking 
for a job at once. 

Royce: Nonsense! 

Oliver: It isn't nonsense. What do you think my 
chief will want me for, if I'm not Blayds the poet's 
grandson ? 

Royce: Your intrinsic qualities. 

Oliver: I'm afraid they are not intrinsic enough 
in the present state of the market. 

Royce: Well, you said you wanted to be a motor 
engineer — now's your chance. 

Oliver: Helpful fellow, Royce. Now, as he says, 
is my chance. ( There is a pause and then he says sud- 
denly. ) I say, what do you think about it all ? 



i68 The Truth About Blayds 

Royce: What do you mean, think about it all? 
What is there to think? One tries not to think. It's 
— shattering, 

Oliver: No, I don't mean that. I mean — do you 
really think he did it? 

Royce: Did what? 

Oliver: Did it. Did Jenkins. 

Royce: I don't understand, is there any doubt about 
it? 

Oliver: Well, that's just it . . . The fact is, I had 
a brain wave at Bradford. 

Royce : Oh ? 

Oliver: Yes. I said, "By Jove! Of course! That's 
it I" 

Royce: What's what? 

Oliver: He never did it! He just imagined it! It 
was all — what was the word I used ? 

Royce: Hallucination? 

Oliver: Hallucination. (He nods.) That's the 
word. I wrote to father last night. I said, "Hallucin- 
ation." You can back it both ways, Royce, and you 
won't be far out. 

Royce: Yes, I can see how attractive the word must 
have looked — up at Bradford. 

Oliver: You don't think it looks so well down here? 

Royce: I'm afraid not. 

Oliver: Well, why not? Which is more probable, 
that Oliver Blayds carried out this colossal fraud for 
more than sixty years, or that when he was an old 
man of ninety his brain wobbled a bit, and he started 
imagining things? 

Royce: (SJiaking his head regretfully.) No. 
Oliver: It's all very well to say "No." Anybody 



The Truth About Blayds 169 

can say "No." As the Old Man said yesterday, you 
refuse to face the facts, Royce. Look at all the Will 
cases you see in the papers. Whenever an old gentle- 
man over seventy leaves his money to anybody but his 
loving nephews and nieces, they always bring an action 
to prove that he can't have been quite right in the head 
when he died; and nine times out of ten they win. 
Well, Blayds was ninety. 

Royce: Yes, but I thought he left you a thousand 
pounds. 

Oliver: Well, I suppose that was a lucid interval 
. . . Look here, you think it over seriously. I read a 
book once about a fellow who stole another man's novel. 
Perhaps Blayds read it too and got it mixed up. Why 
not at that age? Or perhaps he was thinking of using 
the idea himself. And turning it over and over in his 
mind, living with it, so to speak, day and night, he 
might very easily begin to think that it was something 
that had happened to himself. At his age. And then 
on his death-bed, feeling that he must confess some- 
thing — thoroughly muddled, poor old fellow — well, 
you see how easily it might happen. Hallucination. 

Royce: {Regarding him admiringly.) You know, 
Oliver, I think you underrate your intrinsic qualities 
as a politician. You mustn't waste yourself on engi- 
neering. 

Oliver: Thanks very much. I suppose Father 
hasn't mentioned the word "hallucination" to you yet? 

Royce: No, not yet. 

Oliver: Perhaps he hadn't got my letter this morn- 
ing. But it's worth thinking about, it is really. 

Royce: {Hard at it again.) Yes, I am sure it is. 

Oliver: You know 

Royce: You know, Oliver, I'm really very busy. 



170 The Truth About Blayds 

Oliver: (Getting up.) Oh, all right. And I want 
a wash anyway. Is Father in his study ? 

Royce: Yes. Also very busy. If you really are 
going, I wish you'd see if Miss Blayds could spare me 
a moment. 

Oliver: Right. (Turning to the door and seeing 
Isobel come in.) She can. Hallo, Aunt Isobel! 

Isohel: I thought I heard your voice. Did you 
have an interesting time ? 

Oliver: Rather! I was telling Royce. (He takes 
her hand and pats it kindly.) And I say, it's all right. 
Quite all right. (He kisses her hand.) Believe me, 
it's going to be absolutely all right. You see. (He 
pats her hand soothingly and goes out.) 

Isobel: (Rather touched.) Dear boy! 

Royce: Yes, Oliver has a great future in politics. 

Isobel: (Going to the sofa.) I'm tired. 

Royce: You've been doing too much. Sit down 
and rest a little. 

Isobel: (Sitting.) No, go on. I shan't disturb 
you? 

Royce: Talk to me. I've worked quite enough too. 

Isobel: Shall we be ready by tomorrow? 

Royce: I think so. 

Isobel: I want to be rid of it — to get it out of my 
head where it just goes round and round. It will be 
a relief when the whole world knows. (With a little 
smile. ) What a sensation for them ! 

Royce: Yes. (Also smiling.) Isn't it funny how 
that comes in? 

Isobel: What? 

Royce: The excitement at the back of one's mind 
when anything unusual happens, however disastrous. 



The Truth About Blayds 171 

Isabel: (Smiling.) Did I sound very excited? 

Royce: You sounded alive for the first time. 

Isabel : These last two days have helped me. It 
has been a great comfort to have you here. It was 
good of you to come. 

Royce: But of course I came. 

Isabel: I was looking up Who's Who for an 
address, and I went on to your name — you know how 
one does. I hadn't realised you were so famous or so 
busy. It was good of you to come . . . Your wife 
died? 

Royce: {Surprised.) Yes. 

Isabel: I didn't know. 

Royce: Ten years ago. Surely 

Isabel: Is there a special manner of a man whose 
wife died ten years ago which I ought to have recog- 
nised ? 

Royce: {Laughing.) Well, no. But one alwavs 
feels that a fact with which one has lived for years 
must have impressed itself somehow on others. 

Isabel: I didn't know .... 

Royce: {Suddenly.) I wish I could persuade you 
that you were quite wrong not to take any of this 
money. 

Isabel: Am I "quite wrong?" 

Royce: {Shaking his head.) No. That's why it's 
so hopeless my trying to persuade you . . . What are 
you going to do ? 

Isabel: {Rather sadly.) Aren't I a "born nurse?" 

Royce: You tied my hand up once. 

Isabel: {Smiling.) Well, there you are . . . Oh, 
I daresay it's just pride, but somehow I can't take the 
money. The others can; you were right about that — 



172 The Truth About Blayds 

I was wrong; but they have not been so near to him 
as I have ... I thought the whole world was at an 
end at first. But now 

Roycc: But now you don't. 

Isabel: No. I don't know why. How hopeful 
we are. How — unbreakable. If I were God, I should 
be very proud of Man. 

Royce: Let Him go on being proud of you. 

Isabel: Oh, I'm tough. You can't be a nurse with- 
out being tough. I shan't break. 

Royce: And just a smile occasionally? 

Isabel: (Smiling adorably.) And even perhaps 
just a smile occasionally? 

Royce: Thank you. 

(William comes in fussily. But there is a sup- 
pressed air of excitement about him. He 
has Oliver's letter in his hand.) 

William: Isobel, there are two pass-books miss- 
ing — two of the early ones. I thought you had found 
them all. You haven't seen them, Mr. Royce? 

Royce: No, I've had nothing to do with them. 

William: You found most of the early ones in the 
bottom drawer of his desk, you told me. 

Isabel: (Getting up.) I may have overlooked one; 
I'll go and see. There was a great deal of rubbish 
there. 

Rayce: Can't I? 

Isabel: Would you? You know where. Thank 
you so much. 

Royce : ( Going. ) Right. 

William: Thank you very much, Mr. Royce, I'm 
sorry to trouble you. 

(There is a little silence after Royce is gone. 



The Truth About Blayds 173 

Isabel is thinking her own thoughts, not 
quite such unhappy ones now; William is 
nervous and excited. After much polishing 
of his glasses he begins. ) 

William: Isobel, I have been thinking very deeply 
of late about this terrible business. 

Isobel: Yes? 

William: {Going' to the desk.) Is this the state- 
ment? 

Isobel: Is it? 

William: {Glancing over it.) Yes . . . yes. I've 
been wondering if we've been going too far. 

Isobel: About the money? 

William: No, no. No, no, I wasn't thinking about 
the money. 

Isobel: What then? 

William: WeJl . . . Well . . . I'm wondering 
. . . Can we feel quite certain that if we make this 
announcement — can we feel quite certain that we are 
not — well — going too far ? 

Isobel: You mean about the money? 

William: No, no, no, no. 

Isobel: Then what else? I don't understand. 

William: Suppose — I only say suppose — it were 
not true. I mean, can we be so certain that it is true ? 
You see, once we make this announcement it is then 
too late. We cannot contradict it afterwards and say 
that we have made a mistake. It is irrevocable. 

Isobel: {Hardly able to believe it.) Are you sug- 
gesting that we should — hush it up? 

William: Now you are putting words into my 
mouth that I have not yet used. I say that it has oc- 
curred to m€, thinking things over very earnestly, that 



174 The Truth About Blayds 

possibly we are in too much of a hurry to beUeve this 
story of — er — this Jenkins story. 

Isabel: You mean that I have invented it, dreamed 
it, imagined it ? 

William: No, no, no, no, please. It would never 
occur to me to suggest any such thing. What I do 
suggest as a possibility worth considering is that 
Oliver Blayds — er — imagined it. 

Isobel: You mean he thought it was the other 
man's poetry when it was really his own? 

William: You must remember that he was a very 
old man. I was saying to Marion in this very room, 
talking over what I understood then to be his last wish 
for a simple funeral, that the dying words of an old 
man were not to be taken too seriously. Indeed, I 
used on that occasion this actual phrase, "An old man, 
his faculties rapidly going." I repeat the phrase. I 
say again that an old man, his faculties rapidly going, 
may have imagined this story. In short, it has oc- 
curred to me that the whole thing may very well be — 
hallucination. 

Isobel: {Looking at him fixedly.) Or self-decep 
tion. 

William: {Misunderstanding her.) Exactly. Well, 
in short, I suggest there never was anybody called 
Jenkins. 

Isobel: {Brightly — after a pause.) Wouldn't it be 
nice? 

William. One can understand how upon his death- 
bed a man feels the need of confession, of forgiveness 
and absolution. It may well be that Oliver Blayds, in- 
stinctively feeling this need, bared his soul to you, not 
of some real misdeed of his own, but of some im- 



The Truth About Blayds 175 

aginary misdeed with which, by who knows what 
association of ideas, his mind had become occupied. 

Isabel: You mean he meant to confess to a mur- 
der or something, and got muddled. 

William: Heaven forbid that I should attribute any 
misdeed to so noble, so knightly a man as Oliver 
Blayds. 

Isabel: Knightly? 

William: I am of course assuming that this man 
Jenkins never existed. 

Isabel: Oh, you are assuming that? 

William: The more I think of it, the more plain 
it becomes to me that we must assume it. 

Isabel: Yes, I quite see that the more one thinks 
of it, the more — {She indicates the rest of the sentence 
zi'itli her fingers.) 

William: Well, what do you think of the sugges- 
tion? 

Isabel: It's so obvious that I'm wondering why it 
didn't occur to you before. 

William: The truth is I was stunned. 

Isabel: Oh, yes. 

William: And then, I confess, the fact of the 1863 
volume seemed for the moment conclusive, 

Isabel: But now it doesn't? 

William: I explain it now, as one always explained 
it when he was alive. Every great poet has these 
lapses. 

Isabel: Oh! (She is silent, laaking at William 
wanderingly, almast admiringly.) 

William: {After waiting far her comment.) Well? 

Isabel: What can I say, William, except again how 
nice it will be? No scandal, no poverty, no fuss, and 



176 The Truth About Blayds 

his life in two volumes just as before. We are a little 
too late for the Abbey, but, apart from that, everything 
is as nice as it can be. 

William: (Solemnly.) You have not mentioned 
the best thing of all, Isobel. 
Isabel: What? 

William: That our faith in him has not been mis- 
placed. 

(She looks at him, not knowing whether to 
laugh or to cry.) 
Isobel: Oh ... oh. ... (But there are no words 
available. ) 

(Marion comes in.) 

Marion: (Excitedly.) Isobel dear, have you 
heard? Have you heard the wonderful news? 

Isobel: (Turning to her blankly.) News? 

Marion: About the hallucination. I always felt 
that there must have been some mistake. And iiow 
our faith has been justified — as faith always is. It's 
such a comfort to know. Really to know at last. 
Poor dear Grandfather! He was so very old. I 
think sometimes we forget how very old he was. And 
the excitement of that last day — his birthday — and 
perhaps the glass of port. No wonder. 

William: (Shaking his head wisely.) Very strange, 
very strange, but as you say not unexpected. One 
might almost have predicated some such end. 

Marion: I shall never forgive myself for having 
doubted. (To Isobel.) I think Grandfather will for- 
give us, dear. I can't help feeling that wherever he 
is, he will forgive us. 

William: (Nodding.) Yes, yes ... I shall say 
nothing about it in the book, of course — this curious 
lapse in his faculties at the last. 



The Truth About Blayds 177 

Marion: Of course not, dear. 

Isabel: Then you won't want that pass-book now? 

Marion : Pass-book ? 

Isohel: Yes. You were going into the accounts, 
weren't you, to see how much 

William: {To Marion.) Oh — ah — yes, the Jen- 
kins Fund. 

Marion: But of course there is no Jenkins now! 
So there can't be a Jenkins Fund. Such a comfort 
from every point of view. 

Isohel: {To William.) You're quite happy about 
the money, then? 

William: {Who obviously isn't.) Er — yes — I 
. . . That is to say, that, while absolutely satisfied 
that this man Jenkins never existed, I — at the same 
time — I — well, perhaps to be on the safe side — there 
are certain charities ... As I say, there are certain 
charities for distressed writers and so on, and perhaps 
one would feel — you see what I mean. {He goes to 
the desk.) 

Isabel: Yes. It's what they call conscience-money, 
isn't it? 

William: {Not hearing.) But of course all that 
can be settled later. {He picks up Royce's statement.) 
The main point is that this will not now be wanted. 
{He prepares to tear it in two.) 

Isabel: {Fiercely.) No! Put that down! 

{Startled he puts it down, and she snatches it 
up and holds it close to her heart.) 

Marion: Isobel, dear! 

Isabel: It's his, and you're not to touch it! He has 
given his time to it, and you're not going to throw 
it away as if it were nothing. It's for him to say. 



178 The Truth About Blayds 

William: (Upset.) Really! I was only just 

(Royce comes in.) 

Royce: (Excitedly.) I say! 

Isabel: Mr. Royce, we have some news for you. 
We have decided that the man Jenkins never existed. 
Isn't it nice? 

Royce: Never existed? 

Isobel: He was just an hallucination. (To 
William.) Wasn't that the word? 

Royce: (Laughing.) Oh, I see. That's rather 
funny. For what do you think I've got here! (He 
holds up a faded piece of paper.) Stuck in this old 
pass-book. Jenkins' will. 

William : ( Staggered. ) 0-o-o-o-oh ! 

Marion: (Bewildered.) It must be another Jen- 
kins. Because we've just decided that our one never 
lived. 

Isobel: What is it? What does it say? 

Royce: (Reading.) "To Oliver Blayds who has 
given me everything I leave everything." And then 
underneath, "God bless you, dear Oliver." 

Isobel: (Moved.) Oh! 

William: Let me look. (He takes it.) 

Isabel: (To herself.) All those years ago! 

William: Yes, there's no doubt of it. (He gives 
the paper back to Royce.) Wait! Let me think. 
(He sits down, head in hands.) 

Royce: (To Marion.) Well, that settles the money 
side of it, anyway. Whatever should have been the 
other man's came rightfully to Oliver Blayds. 

Isobel: Except the immortality. 

Royce: Ah, yes. I say nothing of that. (Going 
to the desk and picking up his statement. ) I shall have 



The Truth About Blayds 179 

to re-write this . . . Well, the first part can stand 
. . . I'm glad we aren't going to be bothered about 
money. It would have been an impossible business to 
settle. 

William: {Triumphantly.) I've got it! 

Marion: What, dear? 

William: Now I understand everything. 

Royce: What? 

William: The 1863 volume. That always puzzled 
me. Now at last, we have the true explanation. 
{Dramatically.) The 1863 volume was written by 
Jenkins ! 

(Isabel and Royce look at him in amazement; 
Marion in admiration.) 
Royce: {To himself.) Poor old Jenkins. 
Marion: Of course I liked all grandfather's poetry. 
There was some of it I didn't understand, but I felt 
that he knew 

William: No, we can be frank now. The 1863 
volume was bad. And now we see why. He wished 
to give this dear dead friend of his a chance. I can 
see these two friends — Oliver — and — er — {Going to 
Royce) What was Mr — er — Jenkins' other name? 
{He reads it over Royce' s shoulder.) Ah, yes, Wil- 
loughby — I can see that last scene when Willoughby 
lay dying, and his friend Oliver stood by his side. I 
can hear Willoughby lamenting that none of his poetry 
will ever be heard now in the mouths of others — and 
Oliver's silent resolve that in some way, at some time, 
Willoughby's work shall be given to the world. And 
so in 1863, when his own position was firmly estab- 
lished, he issues this little collection of his dead friend's 
poetry, these few choicest sheaves from poor Wil- 
loughby's indiscriminate harvest, sheltering them, as 



i8o The Truth About Blayds 

he hoped, from the storm of criticism with the mantle 
of his own great name. A noble resolve, a chivalrous 
undertaking, but alas! of no avail. 

Royce: You will say this in your life of Oliver 
Blayds? 

William: I shall — er — hint at the doubtful author- 
ship of the 1863 volume; perhaps it would be better 
not to go into the matter too fully. 

Marion: {To Isabel.) It would be much nicer, 
dear, if we didn't refer to any of the unhappy thoughts 
which we have all had about Grandfather in the last 
few days. We know now that we never ought to have 
doubted. He was — Grandfather. 

Isabel: (After a pause, to Royce.) Well? 
(He shrugs his shoulders.) 

Will you find the children? I think they ought to 
know this. 

Royce: Right. Do you want me to come back? 

Isabel: Please. 

(He goes out. When he has gone, she turns 
to William.) 

I am going to publish the truth about Oliver Blayds. 

Marion: But that's what we all want to do, dear. 

William: What do you mean by the truth? 

Isabel: What we all know to be the truth in our 
hearts. 

William: I deny it. I deny it utterly. I am con- 
vinced that the explanation which I have given is the 
true one. 

Iso'bel: Then I shall publish the explanation which 
he gave 'ine. 

William: Isobel, I should have thought that you, 



The Truth About Blayds i8i 

of all people, would have wanted to believe in Oliver 
Blayds. 

Isabel: Wanted to! If only "wanting to" were the 
same as believing, how easy life would be! 

Marion: It is very nearly the same, dear. If you 
try very hard. I have found it a great comfort. 

IVilliam: I must beg you to reconsider your de- 
cision. I had the honour of the friendship of Oliver 
Blayds for many years, and I tell you frankly that I 
will not allow this slander of a dead man to pass un- 
challenged. 

Isabel: Which dead man? 

William: (A little upset.) This slander on Oliver 
Blayds. 

Isabel: It is not slander. I shall tell the truth about 
him. 

William: Then I shall tell the truth about him too. 
(Isabel turns away with a shrug, and sees Sep- 
tima, Royce and Oliver coming in.) 

Isabel: Thank you, Mr. Royce. Septima, Oliver — 
{She gives them the will to read.) 

Oliver: {After reading.) By Jove! Sportsman! 
I always said — {Frankly.) No, I didn't. 

Septima: {After reading.) Good. Well, that's 
all right then. 

Isabel: We have been talking over what I told you 
the other day, and your Father now has a theory, that 
it was the 1863 volume which was written by this 
man, and that your Grandfather in telling me the 
story had got it into his head somehow 

William: A very old man, his faculties rapidly go- 
ing 

Isabel: Had muddled the story up. 



1 82 The Truth About Blayds 

Oliver: (Brightening up.) Good for you, Father! 
I see! Of course! Then it was hallucination after 
all? 

Isabel: You had discussed it before? 

Oliver: Oh, rather! 

Isabel: (To Septima.) And you? 

Oliver: I told Septima the idea. 

Isabel: And what does Septima say? 
They All turn ta her. 

Septima: (Emphatically.) Rot! 

Marion: (Shocked.) Septima! Your father! 

Septima: Well, you asked me what I said, and I'm 
telling you. Rot. R-O-T. 

William: (Coldly.) Kindly explain yourself a lit- 
tle more lucidly. 

Oliver: It's all rot saying "rot" 

William: One at a time, please. Septima? 

Septima: I think it's rot, trying to deceive our- 
selves by making up a story about Grandfather, just 
because we don't like the one which he told Aunt 
Isobel. What does it all matter anyhow? There's 
the poetry, and jolly good too, most of it. What does 
it matter when you've quoted it, whether you add, "As 
Blayds nobly said" or "As Jenkins nobly said"? It's 
the same poetry. There was Grandfather. We all 
knew him well, and we all had plenty of chances of 
making up our minds about him. How can what he 
did seventy years ago, when he was another person 
altogether, make any difiference to our opinion of him ? 
And then there's the money. I said that it ought to 
be ours, and it is ours. Well, there we are. 

William: You are quite content that your Aunt 
should publish, as she proposes to, this story of — er — 



The Truth About Blayds 183 

Willoughby Jenkins, which I am convinced is a base 
Hbel on the reputation of OHver Blayds? 

Oliver: I say, Aunt Isobel, are you really going 
to ? I mean do you still believe 

Isobel: I am afraid I do, Oliver. 

Oliver: Good Lord ! 

William : Well — Septima ? 

Septima: I am quite content with the truth. And 
if you want the truth about Septima Blayds-Conway, 
it is that the truth about Blayds is not really any great 
concern of hers. 

Oliver: Well, that's a pretty selfish way of looking 
at it. 

Marion: I don't know what Grandfather would 
say if he could hear you. 

Isabel: Thank you, Septima. You're honest any- 
how. 

Septima: Well, of course. 

Oliver: It's all very well for her to talk like that, 
but it's a jolly big concern of mine. If it comes out, 
I'm done. As a politician anyway. 

Royce: What do you believe, Oliver? 

Oliver: I told you. Hallucination. At least it 
seems just as likely as the other. And that being so, 
I think we ought to give it the benefit of the doubt. 
What is the truth about Blayds — I don't know 

Isobel: {Calmly.) I do, Oliver. 

William: {Sharply.) So do I. 

Oliver: Well, I mean, there you are. Probably 
the truth lies somewhere in between 

Royce: {With a smile, speaking almost uncon- 
sciously.) No, no, you mustn't waste yourself on en- 



1 84 The Truth About Blayds 

gineering. (Recovering himself ivith a start.) I beg 
your pardon. 

Oliver: Anyway, I'm with Father. I don't think 
we ought to take the risk of doing Oliver Blayds an 
injustice by saying anything about this — this hal- 
lucination. 

William: There is no question of risk. It's a cer- 
tainty. Come, Marion. (He leads the way to the 
door.) We have much to do. (Challengingly.) We 
have much work yet to do upon the life of this great 
poet, this great and chivalrous gentleman, Oliver 
Blayds! 

Marion: (Meekly.) Yes, dear. 
(They go out.) 

Oliver: Oh, Lord, a family row! I'm not sure 
that that isn't worse . . . "Interviewed by our repre- 
sentative, Mr. Oliver Blayds-Conway said that he pre- 
ferred not to express an opinion." I think that's my 
line. 

Septima: Yes, it would be. 

Oliver: Well, I must go. (Grandly.) We have 
much work yet to do . . . Coming, Tim? 

Septima: (Getting up.) Yes. (She goes slozuly 
after him, hesitates, and then comes back to Isobel. 
Aivkwardly she touches her shoulders and says.) 
Good luck! 

(Then she goes out. 

Royce, and Isobel stand looking at each other. 
First he begins to smile; then she. Sud- 
denly they are both laughing.) 

Isobel: How absurd! 

Royce: I was afraid you wouldn't appreciate it. 
Well, what are you going to do? 

Isobel: What can I do but tell the world the truth? 



The Truth About Blayds 185 

Roycc: H'm! I wonder if the world will be grate- 
ful. 

Isabel: Does that matter? 

Roycc: Yes, I think it does. I think you ought to 
feel that you are benefiting somebody — other than 
yourself. 

Isabel: {With a smile.) I am hardly benefiting 
myself. 

Royce: Not materially, of course — but spiritually? 
Aren't you just easing your conscience? 

Isabel: I don't see why the poor thing shouldn't 
be eased. 

Rayce: At the other people's expense? 

Isabel: Oh, but no, Austin, no. I'm sure that's 
wrong. Surely the truth means more than that. 
Surely it's an end in itself. The only end. Call it 
Truth or call it Beauty, it's all we're here for. 

Royce: You know, the trouble is that the Truth 
about Blayds won't seem very beautiful. There's 
your truth, and then there's William's truth, too. To 
the public it will seem not so much like Beauty as like 
an undignified family squabble. No, it's no good. You 
can't start another miserable Shakespeare-Bacon con- 
troversy. Because that is what it would be in a few 
years. There would be no established truth, but just 
a Jenkins' theory. All that the man in the street 
would gather of it would be that years ago a thief 
called Jenkins had tried to steal Blayds' poetry. Hadn't 
we better just leave him with the poetry? 

Isabel: It seems so unfair that this poor deaa hoy 
should be robbed of the immortality which he wanted. 

Rayce: Hasn't he got it? There are his works. 
Didn't he have the wonderful happiness and pain of 



i86 The Truth About Blayds 

writing them? How can you do anything for him 
now? It's just pure sentiment, isn't it? 

Isohel: {Meekly.) If you say so, sir. 

Royce: (Laughing.) Am I lecturing? I'm sorry. 

Isabel: No, I don't mind. And I expect you're right. 
I can't do anything. {After a pause.) Are one's mo- 
tives ever pure? 

Royce: One hopes so. One never knows. 

Isabel: I keep telling myself that I want the truth 
to prevail — but is it only that ? Or is it that I wanted 
to punish him? ... He hurt me so. All those years 
he was pretending that I helped him. Think of it. 
My advice, my criticism, fuy help — and there, all the 
time, was the masterpiece, written sixty years ago by 
another, and I thought that we were writing it to- 
gether then! It was all just a game to him. A game 
— and he was laughing. Do you wonder that I was 
bitter? It was just a game to him. 

Royce: As he said, he carried it off. 

Isabel: Yes, he carried it off . . . Even in those 
last moments he was carrying it off. Just that. He 
was frightened at first — he was dying ; it was so lonely 
in the grave; there was no audience there; no onf to 
listen, to admire. Only God. Ah, but when he had 
begun his story, how quickly he was the artist again! 
No fear now, no remorse. Just the artist glorying in 
his story; putting all he knew into the telling of it, 
making me see that dead boy whom he had betrayed, 
so vividly that I could have stretched out my hand 
to him, and said "Oh, my dear, I'm sorry — I will make 
it all right for you." Oh, he had his qualities, Oliver 
Blayds. My father, yes; but somehow he never 
seemed that. A great man; a little man; but never 
quite my father. 



The Truth About Blayds 187 

Royce: A great man, I think. 

Isabel: Yes, he was a great man, and he did less 
hurt to the world than most great men do. 

Royce: (Picking up his statement.) Then I can 
tear up this? 

Isabel : (After a little struggle zuith herself .) Yes! 
Let us bury the dead, and forget about them. 

(He tears it up. She gii'es a sigh of relief.) 
( With a smile. ) There ! 

Royce: (Coming to her.) Isobel! 

Isabel: Ah — but she's dead, too. Let's forget 
about her. 

Royce: She is not dead. I have seen her. 

Isobel: When did you see her? 

Royce: Today I have seen her. She peeped out 
for a moment, and was gone. 

Isobel: She just peeped out to say good-bye to yon. 

Royce: (Shaking his head.) No. To say "How 
do you do" to me. 

Isabel: My dear, she died eighteen years ago, that 
child. 

Royce: (Smiling.) Then introduce me to her 
mother. 

Isobel: (Gravely, with a smile behind it.) Mr. 
Royce, let me introduce you to my mother — thirty- 
eight, poor dear. (Bounng.) How do you do, Mr. 
Royce? I have heard my daughter speak of you, 

Royce: How do you do, Mrs. Bladys? I'm glad 
to meet you, because I once asked your daughter to 
marry me, 

Isobel: (Unhappily.) Ah, don't, don't! 



1 88 The Truth About Blayds 

Royce: (Cheerfully.) Do you know 'what she 
said? She said, Hke all properly brought up girls, 
"You must ask my mother." So now I ask her — 
"Isobel's mother, will you marry me?" 

Isabel: Oh! 

Royce: Isobel was quite right. I was too old for 
her. Look, I'm grey. And then I've got a bit of 
rheumatism about me somewhere — I really want a 
nurse. Isobel said you were a born nurse . . . Iso- 
bel's mother, will you marry me? 

Isobel: It's only because you are sorry for me — 
because I'm lonely and poor. 

Royce: It's very selfish of you, talking like that. 

Isobel: Selfish? 

Royce: Harping on your loneliness. What about 
my loneliness? 

Isobel: You aren't lonely. 
Royce: I shall be if you don't marry me. 
Isobel: I'm afraid to. I shall be so jealous. 
Royce: Jealous! Of whom? 

Isobel: Of that girl we call my daughter. You 
will always be looking for her. You will think that 
I shan't see; you will try to hide it from me; but I 
shall see. Always you will be looking for her — and 
I shall see. 

Royce: I shall find her. 

Isobel: No, it's too late now. 

Royce: (Confidently.) I shall find«her. Not yet, 
perhaps; but some day. Perhaps it will be on a day 
in April, when the primroses are out between the wood- 
stacks, and there is a chatter of rooks in the tall elms. 



The Truth About Blayds 189 

Then, a child again, she will laugh for joy of the clean 
blue morning, and I shall find her. And when I have 
found her, I shall say 

Isabel: (Gently.) Yes? 

Royce: I shall say, "Thank God, you are so like 
your mother — whom I love." 

Isobel: No, no, it can't be true. 

Royce: It is true. (Holding out his hands.) I 
want you — not her. 

Isobel: Oh, my dear! 

(She puts out her hands to his. As he takes 
them, Marion comes in hurriedly. Their 
hands drop, and they stand there, looking 
happily at each other.) 

Marion: Isobel! I had to come and tell you how 
hurt William is. Dear, don't you think you could be- 
lieve — just for William's sake 

Isobel: (Gently.) It's all right, dear. I am not 
going to say anything. 

Marion: (Eagerly.) You mean you believe? 

William comes in, and she rushes to him. 
She believes! She believes! 

Isobel and Royce exchange a smile. 

William: (With satisfaction.) Ah! I am very 
glad to hear this. As regards the biography. In the 
circumstances, since we are all agreed as to the facts, 
I almost think we might record the story of Oliver 
Blayds' chivalrous attempt to assist his friend, definitely 
assigning to Willoughby Jenkins the 1863 volume. 
(He looks at them for approval.) 

(Marion nods.) 



I90 The Truth About Blayds 

Isabel: (Looking demurely at Royce and then 
hack again.) Yes, William. 

William: I feel strongly, and I am sure you will 
agree with me, that it is our duty to tell the whole 
truth about that great man. {Again he looks to 
Marion for approval. She assents.) 

Isabel: (Aside to Royce — enjoying it with him.) 
Do I still say, ''Yes, William"? 

(He smiles and nods.) 
Yes, William. 

(And so that is how the story will he handed 
dawn. ) 



THE 

GREAT 

BROXOPP 

Four 
Chapters 
In 
His 

Life 

A 

Comedy 



191 



CHARACTERS 

Broxopp 

Nancy, His Wife 

Jack, His Son 

Sir Roger Tenterden 

Iris Tenterden 

HoNORiA Johns 

Ronald Derwent 

NoRAH Field 

Benham 

Mary 

Alice 

Scene: The scene is laid in the Broxopp home of the 
period. 

Tzuenty-four years pass \betzveen Act I and Act 
H, eighteen months betzvecn Act H and Act HI, 
and a year between Act HI and Act IV. 



192 



ACT I 

Scene: The Great Broxopp's lodgings in Bloomsbury; 
a humble room in the year i88 — , for Broxopp 
has only just begun. He has been married for six 
months, and we see Nancy {the dear) at work, 
while her husband is looking for it. He is an 
advertising agent in the days zvhen advertising 
agents did not lunch with peers and newspaper 
proprietors. Probably he woidd prefer to call 
himself an "adviser to men of business." As we 
see from a large advertisement on the wall — drawn 
and lettered by hand (Nancy's) — he has been 
hoping to advise Spcnlow on the best way to sell 
his suspenders. Other pieces of advice decorate 
the walls — some accepted, some even paid for — 
and Nancy is now making a fair copy of one of 
them. 

Mary, the Broxopp's servant — Nancy thought 
they could do zvithout one, but the Great Broxopp 
knew how she woidd love being called "Yes, 
ma'am," and insisted on it — w^ll then, Mary 
comes in. 

Nancy: {Without looking up.) Yes, Mary? 

Mary: It's about the dinner, ma'am. 

Nancy: {With a sigh.) Yes, I was afraid it was. 
It isn't a very nice subject to talk about, is it, Mary? 

Mary: Well, ma'am, it has its awkwardness like. 

Nancy: {After a pause, but not very hopefully.) 
How is the joint looking? 

193 



194 The Great Broxopp 

Mary: Well, it's past looking like anything very 
much. 

Nancy: Well, there's the bone. 

Mary: Yes, there's the bone. 

Nancy: (Gaily.) Well, there we are, Mary. Soup. 

Mary: If you remember, ma'am, we had soup yes- 
terday. 

Nancy: {Wistfully.) Couldn't you — couldn't yon 
squeeze it again, Mary? 

Mary: It's past squeezing, ma'am — in this world 

Nancy: I was reading in a book the other day about 
two people who went out to dinner one night — they 
always dine late in books, Mary — and ordered a grilled 
bone. It seemed such a funny thing to have, when they 
had everything else to choose from. I suppose our 
bone ? 

Mary: Grilling wouldn't do it no good, ma'am. 

Nancy: {Trying to he fair.) Well, I suppose we 
mustn't blame it. It has been a good joint to us. 

Mary: A good stayer, as you might say. 

Nancy: Yes. Well, I suppose we shall have to get 
another. 

Mary: Yes, ma'am. 

Nancy: Would you look in my purse? 

{Mary goes to the desk and opens the purse.) 
How much is there? 

Mary: Three coppers and two stamps, ma'am. 

Nancy: Oh! {Determined to he hravc.) Well, 
that's five pence. 

Mary: They are halfpenny stamps, ma'am. 

Nancy: {Utterly undone.) Oh, Mary! What a 
very unfortunate morning we're having. {Coaxingly.) 
Well, anyhow it's four pence, isn't it? 



The Great Broxopp 195 

Mary: Yes, ma'am. 

Nancy: Well, now what can we get for fourpence? 

Mary: {Stolidly.) A turkey. 

Nancy: {Laughing with complete happiness.) Oh, 
Mary, don't be so gloomy about it. {Collapsing into 
laughter again.) Let's have two turkeys — two tup- 
penny ones. 

Mary: It's enough to make anyone gloomy to see 
a nice gentleman like Mr. Broxopp and a nice lady like 
yourself starving in a garret. 

Nancy: I don't know what a garret is, but if this 
is one, I love garrets. And we're not starving; we've 
got fourpence. {Becoming practical again.) What 
about a nice chop ? 

Mary: It isn't much for two of you. 

Nancy: Three of us, Mary. 

Mary: Oh, I can do all right on bread and cheese, 
ma'am. 

Nancy: Well then, so can I. And Jim can have the 
chop. There! Now let me get on with my work. 
{Contemptuously to herself as she goes on with her 
writing. ) Starving ! And in a house full of bread and 
cheese ! 

Mary: Mr. Broxopp is not the sort of gentleman to 
eat a chop while his wife is only eating a bit of cheese. 

Nancy: {With love in her voice and eyes.) No, he 
isn't ! {Proudly.) Isn't he a Une man, Mary? 

Mary: Yes, he's a real gentleman is Mr. Broxopp. 
It's queer he doesn't make more money. 

Nancy: Well, you see, he's an artist. 

Mary: {Surprised.) An artist ? Now that's funny, 
I've never seen him painting any of his pictures. 

Nancy: I don't mean that sort«of an artist. I mean 



196 The Great Broxopp 

he's — (Wrinkling her forehead.) Now, how did he 
put it yesterday? He likes ideas for their own sake. 
He wants to educate the pubHc up to them. He doesn't 
beheve in pandering to the pubHc for money. He's 
in advance of his generation — like all great artists. 

Mary: (Hopefully.) Yes, ma'am. 

Nancy: (Pointing to the advertisement of Spen- 
low's susp'enders.) Now, there you see what I mean. 
Now that's what the artist in Mr. Broxopp feels that 
a suspender-advertisement ought to be like. But Mr. 
Spenlow doesn't agree with him. Mr. Spenlow, says 
it's above the public's head. And so he's rejected Jim's 
work. That's the worst of trying to work for a man 
like Mr. Spenlow. He doesn't understand artists. Jim 
says that if he saw an advertisement like that, he'd buy 
ten pairs at once, even if he never wore anything but 
kilts. And Jim says you can't work for men like that, 
and one day he'll write advertisements for something 
of his own. 

Mary: Lor, ma'am! Well, I've often wondered 
myself if it was quite decent for a gentleman like Mr. 
Broxopp to write about things that aren't generally 
spoken of in ordinary give and take conversation. But 
then 

Nancy: (With pretty dignity.) That is not the 
point, Mary. An artist has no limitations of that sort. 
And — and you're interrupting me at my work. 

Mary: (Going over to her and just touching her 
lightly on the shoulder.) Bless you, dearie, you are 
fond of him, aren't you ? 

Nancy: Oh, I just love him. (Eagerly.) And he 
must have that chop to himself, Mary, and I'll tell you 
what I'll do. I'll write him a little note to say I've been 
invited out to dinner — and who do you think is going 
to invite me? Why, you! And we'll have our bread 



The Great Broxopp 197 

and cheese together in the kitchen. Won't that be fun ? 
{Suddenly looking tragic.) Oh! 
Mary: What's the matter, ma'am? 
Nancy: Why, perhaps he'll go out again directly 
after dinner and then I shan't have seen him all day! 
{After thinking it over.) No, Mary, I shall have din- 
ner with him. {Firmly.) But I shall say I'm not 
hungry. 

( There is a sound of whistling on the stairs. ) 
Listen, there's Jim ! Oh, Mary, go quickly 1 He hasn't 
seen me for such a long time and he'll like to find me 
alone. 

Mary: {Sympathetically.) I know, ma'am. {She 
goes out.) 

{The Great Broxopp comes in. He wears a tail 
coat of the period, a wide-awake hat and a 
spreading blue tie — "The Broxopp tie" as it 
is called in later years. He is twenty-five at 
this time, but might be any age, an impetuous, 
enthusiastic, flamboyant, simple creature; 
candid, generous; a gentleman, yet with no 
manners; an artist, yet not without vulgarity. 
His beliefs are simple. He believes in himself 
and Nancy; but mostly in himself. ) 
Broxopp : { Holding out his arms. ) Nancy ! 
Nancy: Jim! {She flies into his arms.) 
Broxopp: {Releasing himself and looking at his 
watch.) Two hours and twenty minutes since I kissed 
you, Nancy. 

Nancy: Is that all? It seems so much longer. 
Broxopp: {Comparing his watch with the clock.) 
You're right; I'm a little slow. It's two hours and 
twenty-three minutes. I must have another one. {Has 
one.) 



198 The Great Broxopp 

Nancy: Oh, Jim, darling, it's lovely having you 
back. But you're early, aren't you? Tell me what's 
been happening. 

Broxopp: {Trying to speak indifferently.) How do 
you know anything has been happening? 

Nancy: {Excitedly.) Then it has! I knew it had! 
I felt it. Tell me quickly! {With a sudden change.) 
No, don't tell me quickly, tell me very, very slowly. 
Begin from the very beginning when you left here after 
breakfast. {Pleadingly.) Only just tell me first that it 
is good news. 

Broxopp: {With an air.) Madam, you see in front 
of you the Great Broxopp. 

Nancy. Yes, but you've told me that every day since 
we've been married. 

Broxopp: {Momentarily shaken, but quickly recov- 
ering. ) But you believed it ! Say you believed it ! 

Nancy: Of course I did. 

Broxopp: {Strutting about the room.) Aha, she 
knew! She recognised the Great Broxopp. {Striking 
an attitude.) And now the whole world will know. 

Nancy: Is it as wonderful as that ? 

Broxopp: {Taking her hands.) It is, Nancy, it is! 
I have been singing all the way home. {Seriously.) 
Nancy, when we have lots of money I think I shall learn 
to sing. An artist like myself requires to give expres- 
sion to his feelings in his great moments. Several 
people on the bus objected to my singing. I'm afraid 
they were right. 

Nancy: {Awed.) Are we going to "have lots of 
money one day? Oh, quick, tell me — but slowly right 
from the beginning. {She arranges his chair for him.) 
Or would you rather walk about, dear? 



The Great Broxopp 199 

Broxopp: {Sitting down.) Well, I shall probably 
have to walk about directly, but — Where are you going 
to sit? 

Nancy: {On the floor at his knees.) Here. 

Broxopp: (Earnestly.) Nancy, you must get me 
out of my habit of sitting down before you are seated 
It isn't what a gentleman would do. 

Nancy: (Patting his hand.) It's what a husband 
would do. That's what wives are for — to make their 
husbands comfy. 

Broxopp: Well, dear, never hesitate to tell me any 
little thing you notice about me. I never drop my 
aitches now, do I? 

Nancy: (Smiling lovingly at him.) Never, darling. 

Broxopp: (Complacently.) Very few people could 
have got out of that in a year. But then (raising his 
hand with a gesture of pride.) Broxopp is not like — 
dear me, have I been wearing my hat all the time? 

Nancy: Yes, darling, I love you in your hat. 

(A little upset, Broxopp takes it off and throws 
it on the floor.) 

Broxopp: (Pained.) Darling, you should have told 
me. 

Nancy: I love you so — just as you are. The Great 
Broxopp. Now then, begin from the beginning. 

Broxopp: (His happiness recovered.) Well, after 
breakfast — a breakfast so enormous that, as I said to 
you at the time, I probably shouldn't require any dinner 
after it 

Nancy: (Hastily.) Yes, darling, but I said it first, 
and I really meant it. (Carelessly.) I don't know how 
it is, but somehow I feel I shan't be at all hungry for 
dinner today. 



200 The Great Broxopp 

Broxopp: {Looking down lovingly at her.) Nancy, 
what is for dinner today ? 

Nancy: (As though dinner were a small matter in 
that house.) Oh, chops, bread and cheese and all that 
sort of thing. {Eagerly.) But never mind dinner now 
— go on telling me. 

Broxopp: Nancy, look at me and tell me how many 
chops you have ordered ? 

Nancy: {Bravely.) I thought perhaps one would 
be enough for you, dear, as you weren't very hungry, 
and not being hungry myself 

Broxopp: {Jumping up excitedly.) I thought so! 
The Great Broxopp to dine off one chop! The Great 
Broxopp's wife to dine off no chops ! {He%leans against 
the wall in a magnificent manner and with a tremendous 
flourish produces a five pound note.) Woman, buy five 
hundred chops! {Producing another five pound note 
with an even greater air.) Five hundred tons of fried 
potatoes! (Flourishing a third note.) Five million 
bottles of tomato sauce ! ( Thumping his heart. ) That's 
the sort of man I am. 

Nancy: (Excitedly.) Jim! Have you earned all 
this? 

Broxopp: (Disparagingly.) Tut! That's nothing 
to what is coming. 

Nancy: Fifteen pounds! (Suddenly remembering.) 
Now what would you really like for dinner ? 

Broxopp: (Going over to her and taking her hands.) 
Nancy, you believed in me all the time. It has been 
weary waiting for you, but now — (Answering her 
question.) I think I should like a kiss. 

Nancy: (Kissing him and staying very close.) Of 
course I believed in you, my wonderful man. And now 



The Great Broxopp 201 

they'll all believe in you. (After a pause.) Who be- 
lieved the fifteen pounds? Was it Mr. Spenlow? 

Broxopp: Spenlow? Bah! {He strides across the 
room and tears down the Spenlow advertisements.) 
Spenlow comes down — like his suspenders. Facilis 
descensus Spenlovi. {Dramatically.) I see the man 
Spenlow begging his bread from door to door. I see 
his wife's stockings falling in swathes about her ankles. 
I see 

Nancy: Darling! 

Broxopp: You're quite right, dear. I'm being vul- 
gar again. And worse than that — uncharitable. When 
we are rich, we will ask the Spenlows to stay with us. 
We will be kind to them; we will provide them with 
suspenders. 

Nancy: {Bringing him hack to the point.) Jim! 
{She holds up the money.) You haven't told me yet. 

Broxopp: {Carelessly.) Oh, that? That was from 
Fordyce. 

Nancy: The Fordyce cheap Restaurants? 

Broxopp: The same. I had an inspiration this 
morning. I forced my way into the office of the man 
Fordyce and I took him on one side and whispered 
winged words into his ear. I said {Dramatically.) 
"Fordyce fills you for fivepence." It will be all over 
London tomorrow. "Fordyce fills you for five pence." 
What an arresting thought to a hungry man ! 

Nancy: Shall we have dinner there today, dear? 

Broxopp: Good Heavens, no! It is sufficient that I 
drag others into his beastly eating-house. We will dine 
on champagne, regally. 

Nancy: Darling, I know you are an artist and 
musn't be thwarted but — there's the rent — and — and 
other days coming — and 



202 The Great Broxopp 

Broxopp: {Dropping into his chair again.) Nancy, 
come and sit on my knee. {With suppressed excite- 
ment.) Quick, while I'm sitting down. I shall be 
wanting to walk about directly. This room is too small 
for me. 

{She comes to him.) 

Nancy, it has been a hard struggle for you, I'm 
afraid. 

Nancy: I've loved it, Jim. 

Broxopp: Well, that's over now. Now the real fun 
is beginning. {Triumphantly.) Nancy, I'm on my 
own at last. Broxopp is on his own! {He puts her 
down impetuously and jumps up.) I look into the fu- 
ture and what do I see? I see on every hoarding, I 
see on the side of every omnibus, I see dotted among 
the fields along the great railway routes these magic 
words: ''BROXOPP'S BEANS FOR BABIES." 

Nancy: {Carried away.) Darling! 

Broxopp: Yes! I have begun. And now the world 
will see what advertisement can do in the haiids of an 
artist. Broxopp's Beans for Babies. 

Nancy: But — {Timidly) do babies like beans? 

Broxopp: {Confidently.) They will. I can make 
them like anything. I can make them cry for beans. 
They will lean out of their little cradles and hold out 
their little hands and say; ''Broxopp. I want Broxopp. 
Give me my beans." 

Nancy: {Seeing them.) The darlings. (Business- 
like.) Now tell me all about it. 

Broxopp: {Really meaning to this time.) It began 
with — {Tenderly.) Ah, Nancy, it began with you. I 
might have known it would. I owe it, like everything 
else, to you. 



The Great Broxopp 203 

Nancy: (Awed.) To me? 

Broxopp: To you. It was the nail-brush. 

Nancy: The nail-brush ? 

Broxopp: Yes, you told me the other day to buy a 
nail-brush. {Looking at his fingers.) You were quite 
right. As you said, a gentleman is known by his hands. 
I hadn't thought of it before. Always tell me, darling. 
Well, I went into a chemist's. Fordyce had given me 
fifteen guineas. I had the odd shillings in my pocket 
and I suddenly remembered. There was a very nice 
gentlemanly young fellow behind the counter, and as 
sometimes happens on these occasions, I got into con- 
versation with him. 

Nancy: {Smiling to herself.) Yes, darling. 

Broxopp: I told him something of my outlook on 
life. I spoke of the lack of imagination which is the 
curse of this country, instancing the man Spenlow as 
an example of the type with whom we artists had to 
deal. He interrupted me to say that he had found it 
so, too. A patent food which he had composed in his 
leisure moments — I broke in hastily. "Tell me of your 
food," I said. "Perhaps," and I smote my breast, "per- 
haps / am the capitalist for whom you look." 

Nancy: The five hundred pounds! 

Broxopp: The five hundred pounds. The nest egg 
which I had been keeping for just such a moment. In 
a flash I saw that the moment had come. 

Nancy: {A little frightened.) Then we shall never 
have that five hundred pounds behind us again. 

Broxopp: But think of the thousands we shall have 
in front of us ! Millions ! 

Nancy: We seemed so safe with that in the bank. 



204 The Great Broxopp 

Your little inheritance. No, darling, I'm not disagree- 
ing. I know you're quite right. But I'm just a little 
frightened. You see, I'm not so brave as you. 

Broxopp: But you will be brave with me? You 
believe in me? 

Nancy: Oh, yes, yes. (Bravely.) Goon. 

Broxopp: (Going on.) He told me about his dis- 
covery. A food for babies. Thomson's Food for 
Babies, he called it. (Scornfully.) No wonder no- 
body would look at it. "The name you want on that 
food," I said, "is Broxopp." Who is Thomson? Any- 
body. The next man you meet may be Thomson. But 
there is only one Broxopp — the Great Broxopp. ( With 
an inspired air.) Broxopp's Beans for Babies. 

Nancy: (Timidly.) I still don't quite see why 
beans. 

Broxopp: Nor did he, Nancy. "Mr. Thomson," I 
said, "this is my business. You go about inventing 
foods. Do I interfere with you? No. I don't say that 
we must have this that and the other in it. All I do is 
to put it on the market and advertise it. And when 
I'm doing that, don't you interfere with me. Why 
beans ? you say. Exactly ! I want the whole of Eng- 
land to ask that question. Beans for Babies — what an 
absurd idea ! Who is this Broxopp ? Once they begin 
talking like that, I've got them. As for the food — 
make it up into bean shape and let them dissolve it. Or 
no. Leave it as it is. They'll talk about it more that 
way. Lucus a non lucendo. 

Nancy: What does tJiat mean? 

Broxopp: (Off-handcdly.) It's Latin, dear, for 
calling a thing black because it's white. Thomson un- 
derstood ; he's an educated man, he's not like Spenlow. 



The Great Broxopp 205 

Nancy: And do we share the profits with Mr. 
Thomson ? 

Broxopp: He'll have to take some, of course, be- 
cause it's his food. I shall be generous to him, Nancy; 
don't you be afraid of that. 

Nancy: I know you will, darling; that's what I'm 
afraid of. 

Broxopp: {Carelessly.) We shall have an agree- 
ment drawn up. {On fire to begin.) It will be hard 
work for the first year. Every penny we make will 
have to be used again to advertise it. {Thumping the 
table.) But I can do it! With you helping me, Nancy, 
I can do it. 

Nancy: {Adoringly.) You can do it, my man. 
And oh ! how proud I shall be of helping you. 

Broxopp: {Dreaming.) And the time will come 
when the world will be full of Broxopp Babies. I 
look into the future and I see — millions of them. 

Nancy: {Coming very close.) Jim, when I am all 
alone, then sometimes I look into the future, too. 

Broxopp: {Indulgently.) And what do you see, 
Nancy ? 

Nancy: {Over-awed by what she sees.) Some- 
times I seem to see one little Broxopp baby. 

Broxopp: {With a shout.) Nancy! You mean 

Nancy: {Softly.) Would you like to have a little 
one of your very own, Jim ? 

Broxopp: My darling ! {He takes her in his arms.) 

Nancy: My husband! 

Broxopp: {Releasing her.) A Broxopp — to carry 
on the name. A little Broxopp! {The idea suddenly 
comes to him.) Nancy, he shall be the first, the 
pioneer of all the Broxopp Babies. {Carried aivay.) 
I see him — everywhere — sitting in his little vest 



2o6 The Great Broxopp 

Nancy: (Seeing him too.) His little vest! 

Broxopp: Holding out his little pudgy hand 

Nancy: His little pudgy hand! 

Broxopp: And saying to all the world — (He hesi- 
tates, and a sudden triumphant inspiration gives him 
the words.) "I am a Broxopp Baby — are you?" 

(They gaze into the future, Broxopp seeing his 
million babies, Nancy seeing her one.) 



ACT II 

Scene: A sitting-room in the Great Broxopp's house 
in Queen's Gate. Being the room in which he 
is generally interviewed, it is rather heavily 
furnished, as befits a commercial prince. The 
desk with the telephone on it, the bookcase, the 
chairs and sofa, the mantelpiece are all solid. But 
what really attracts your eye is the large picture 
of the baby, looking at you over the end of his cot, 
and saying: "I am a Broxopp baby — are you?" 
At least, he says so on the posters; this is the 
original, in a suitable gold frame, for which Jack 
Broxopp sat twenty-three years ago. 

(Benham, the new butler (Jack's idea) is discov- 
ered answering the telephone.) 

Benham: {At telephone.) Hello . . . Mr. Broxopp 

is not here for the moment, sir. Can I take a message 

... To ring Mr. Morris up some time this morning. 

Yes, sir . . . Thank you, sir. {He walks 'back to the 

door and meets Alice coming in.) 

Alice: Oh, Mr. Benham, I was looking for you. 
There's a young woman, name of Johns, just come to 
see the master. Would you wish to show her up your- 
self, Mr. Benham? You see we're not used to a gen- 
tleman with us downstairs. It's all so new to us. When 
you were with His Grace 

Benham: Who is this young woman? 

Alice: {Giving card.) She comes from one of the 

newspapers. 

207 



2o8 The Great Broxopp 

Benham: {Reading.) "Miss Honoria Johns, 
Special Correspondent to the Daily Gossip. Contribu- 
tor to the Queen and other leading journals." {Con- 
temptuously.) What does she want? An interview? 

Alice: She didn't say, Mr. Benham, but I expect 
that's what she wants. 

Benham: I'll send her away. Bless you, I had to 
send hundreds of them away when I was with His 
Grace. 

Alice: {Alarmed.) Oh, but I don't think Mr. 
Broxopp would like that. 

Benham: {Staggered.) Do you mean to say that 
he wants to be interviewed ? 

Alice: Oh, I'm sure he does. But I suppose he's 
gone to his office. Oh, no, he hasn't, because there's 
his hat. 

Benham: {Scandalised.) His hat? Has he only 
got one hat? 

Alice: Only one that he wears. What the papers 
call the "Broxopp hat." 

Benham: {To Heazren.) If anybody had told me 
a year ago that I should take service in a house where 
we only wore one hat — but there! "God moves in a 
mysterious way, His wonders to perform." 

Alice: Oh, but it isn't as if Mr. Broxopp was just 
an ordinary gentleman. You mustn't think that, Mr. 
Benham. 

Benham: You all make too much of your Mr. 
Broxopp, my girl. After all, who is he? 

Alice: {Shocked.) Oh, Mr. Benham! 

Benham: {Relenting.) Good in his own line, I ad- 
mit. Personality, push, jer ner sais kwar, as the French 
put it — possibly. But who is he ? What's his family ? 



The Great Broxopp 209 

Alice: Well, there's only Mr. Jack, of course. 

Benhani: (Contemptuously.) Mr. Jack isn't 
"family," my girl. Mr. Jack is "hissue." Not but 
what Mr. Jack is very well in his way. Eton and Ox- 
ford — I've nothing to say against that, though I pre- 
fer Cambridge myself. But who's the family? 
Broxopp! There isn't such a family. 

Alice: Well, but I'm sure he's very rich. Mr. Ben- 
ham. 

Bcnham: Rich, yes, but what does he do with his 
money.'' Does he hunt or shoot? Does he entertain? 
Has he got a country-house? 

Alice: (Sticking to it.) I'm sure you couldn't find 
a nicer gentleman than Sir Roger Tenterden who lives 
next door, and came to dinner here only last Tuesday 
with his daughter. And as to a country-house, well, 
some likes London, and some likes the country, and it's 
just according. 

Benham : Tenterden ? Ah, now that is family, my 
girl. That's the best I've heard of your Mr. Broxopp 
as yet. But you mustn't stand talking here all the 
morning. Just go down and tell that young woman to 
wait until I send for her. They're used to w^aiting. 

Alice: Yes, Mr. Benham. 

Benham: Say that, if the opportunity occurs, I will 
do my best to persuade Mr. Broxopp to give her a few 
minutes of his time. 

Alice: Yes, Mr. Benham. 

Benhani: But that it will be useless for her to ex- 
pect me to divulge any of the secrets of His Grace's 
household, such as are naturally known to me. Tell 
her that my lips are sealed. 

Alice: (Awed.) Yes, Mr. Benham. 
(Alice goes out.) 



2IO The Great Broxopp 

Benham: {Picking up hat delicately and putting it 
down again.) One hat — and what a hat! 

(Broxopp comes in. Very much the Broxopp 
that we know, though his hair, moustache and 
beard are greying slightly, and his face is 
more lined. He still wears a broad-tailed 
coat and a spreading blue tie, though he prob- 
ably pays more for them nowadays. ) 

Broxopp: Well, Benham, what is it? 

Benham: A gentleman rang up, your Grace — I beg 
your pardon — "Sir," I should have said. 

Broxopp: Call me your Grace if it's any comfort 
to you, Benham. 

Benham: Thank you, sir. 

Broxopp: Settling down all right? 

Benham: I am quite comfortable, sir, thank you. 

Broxopp: I'm afraid you feel that you have come 
down in the world? 

Benham: In a sense, yes, sir. 

Broxopp: Well, you'll have to climb up again, Ben- 
ham, that's all. Did you ever read a little book — you 
can get it at all bookstalls — called "Broxoppiana ?" 

Benham: In a general way, sir, I read nothing later 
than Lord Lytton. 

Broxopp: {Genially.) Well, this is by Lord 
Broxopp — a few suggestive thoughts that have oc- 
curred to me from time to time — with photography. 
On page 7, I say this; "Going there is better fun thari 
getting there." I've got there, Benham. You're just 
going there again. I envy you. 

Benham: Thank you, sir ... I wonder If I might 
take the liberty of asking your advice, sir, in a matter 
of some importance to myself. 



The Great Broxopp 211 

Broxopp: Why not? 

Bcnham: Thank you, sir. 

Broxopp: What is it? You want to get married ? 

Bcnham: {Shocked.) Heaven forbid, sir. 

Broxopp: Well, Benham, I've been married twenty- 
five years, and I've never regretted it. 

Benham: I suppose one sogn gets used to it, sir. 
What I wanted to take your advice about, sir, was a 
little financial matter in which I am interested. 

Broxopp: Oh! . . . I'm not sure that you're wise, 
Benham. 

Bcnham: Wise, sir? 

Broxopp: In asking my advice about little financial 
matters. I lost five thousand myself last month. 

Bcnham: {Alarmed.) Not in West Africans, I 
trust, sir? 

Broxopp: God knows what it was in. Jack said 
they were going up. 

Benham: I'm sure I'm sorry to hear it, sir. 

Broxopp: You needn't be. That sort of thing 
doesn't worry me, {With a snap of the Angers.) that 
much. I'd sooner lose five thousand on the Stock Ex- 
change than lose one customer who might have bought 
a five shilling bottle of Broxopp's Beans and didn't. 
I'm not a financier, Benham. I take no interest in 
money for its own sake. It's no good consulting me 
about your investments ; I can only give you two pieces 
of advice. One — get married. Two — if you have any 
children, bring them up on Broxopp's Beans. 

Benham: Thank you, sir. I am afraid I shall be 
unable to follow your advice, sir; particularly in the 
matter of the children. Children, I have noticed, are 
invariably disappointing when they grow up. 



212 The Great Broxopp 

Broxopp: {Thoughtfully.) I suppose they are, 
Benham ... I suppose they are. {Putting his 
thought away suddenly.) Well, I'm sorry I can't help 
you. You should speak to Sir Roger the next time he 
comes to dinner. He's gone into the City lately, and I 
dare say he can put you on to a good thing. 

Benham: Thank you, sir. It would be very con- 
descending of him. Would you like me to brush your 
hat, sir? 

Broxopp: I should like you to tell me who this gen- 
tleman was who rang up. 

Benham: Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. A Mr. Mor- 
ris. He wishes you to communicate with him this 
morning, sir, if convenient. 

Broxopp: Morris? Ridiculous fellow. All right, 
Benham. 

Benham: Thank you, sir. 

{He picks up the hat and goes out as Broxopp 
goes to the telephone.) 
Broxopp: {At telephone.) Central 99199 . . . 
yes . . .Is Mr. Morris in? Broxopp speaking . . . 
Yes . . . Hullo, is that you, Mr. Morris? Broxopp 
speaking . . . Yes, I've got your letter . . . Oh, no, 
no, no, I don't care how good the offer is. I don't 
want to sell . . . Well, you see, I happen to be inter- 
ested in Broxopp's Beans . . . Yes, yes, of course, but 
I mean artistically interested. It's my work, Morris; 
it's what I live for. I am much too fond of it to want 
to share it with anybody . . . Well, my son will join 
me some day, I hope, but no companies for uie . . . 
That's final, Morris . . . Well, look here, if your man 
is as keen as all that to buy Broxopp's Beans I'll tell 
you what I'll do. 

{He looks up at Mrs. Broxopp as she comes in. 



The Great Broxopp 213 

and nods affectionately to her, and then goes 
on speaking down the telephone.) 

I'll let him have one of the large bottles for two and 
ninepence. Ha, ha, ha! {Greatly pleased with him- 
self.) Good-bye, Mr. Morris. {He puts hack the re- 
ceiver, and says to Mrs. Broxopp.) Morris has a man 
who wants to buy Broxopp's Beans. I said I'd let him 
have one of the large bottles for two and ninepence. 
Rather good, Nancy, wasn't it? We must put it in the 
next edition of Broxoppiana. {Thoiightfidly.) I'm 
not often funny. {He kisses her hand and leads her to 
the sofa.) 

Nancy: Dear one . . . Aren't you going to the City 
this morning? 

Broxopp: {On the sofa with her.) I don't know. 
There's not much to do just now. Besides {Tapping 
his buttonhole.) how could I go? 

Nancy: {Getting up.) Oh, you baby. Have you 
been waiting for me to put that in? {She goes to the 
bowl of carnations and takes one out.) 

Broxopp: Well, I couldn't go without it, could I? 
Broxopp without his pink carnation — what would they 
say in the City ? And after you'd put it in for me for 
twenty years, how could I put it in for myself? 

Nancy : ( Giving it the final touch. ) There ! 

Broxopp: {Looking from it to her with a satisfied 
smile.) Now then, give me a kiss, and perhaps I'll go. 

Nancy: You're only a boy still, Jim; much younger 
than Jack. 

Broxopp: Oh, Jack's just at the age when they're 
oldest. He'll grow out of it. Now then, what about 
that kiss? 

Nancy: Keep young, Jim. {She kisses him and he 
takes her in his arms. ) 



214 The Great Broxopp 

{Enter Bcnham noiselessly*) 

Benham: {Addressing the ceiling.) I beg your 
pardon, sir. 

{They disengage hastily.) 

But there's a young woman called from one of the 
newspapers. I think she desires an interview for the 
journal with which she is connected. Or something of 
that nature, sir. {He hands Broxopp her card.) 

Broxopp: Ah, yes. Well, show her up then. 

Benham: Yes, sir. 
{He goes out.) 

Broxopp: {Indignantly.) What I say is this, 
Nancy. If a man can't kiss his own wife, on his own 
sofa, without being interrupted, he isn't living in a 
home at all. He's living in an hotel. Now, I suppose 
that the dignified gentleman who has just left us 
despises us from the bottom of his heart. His Grace 
would never have been so vulgar as to kiss his own wife 
on the sofa. 

Nancy: It doesn't matter very much, Jim, does it? 
And I expect we shall get used to him. 

Broxopp: I don't know why we ever had the fel- 
low — except that Master Jack thought it went better 
with Eton and Oxford. Eton and Oxford — was that 
your idea or mine ? 

Nancy: Yours, dear. 

Broxopp: Oh! Well, the only thing they taught 
him there was that his father's tie was the wrong shape. 

Nancy: {Carried hack as she looks up at the pic- 
ture.) There never was a better baby than Jack. 

Broxopp: {Looking at the picture too.) Yes, he 
used to like my tie in those days. He was never so 
happy as when he was playing with it. Funny how 



The Great Broxopp 215 

they change when they grow up. {Looking at his 
watch.) What are you doing this morning? 

Nancy: (Getting up.) All right, darling. I'm go- 
ing. I know you like being alone for interviews. 

Broxopp: (Going to the door with her.) But you 
must come in, Nancy, at the end. That went well last 
time. (Quoting.) "Ah," said Mr. Broxopp, as a mid- 
dle-aged but still beautiful woman glided into the 
room, "here is my wife. My wife," he went on, with a 
tender glance at the still beautiful woman, "to whom I 

owe all my success." As he said these words 

Nancy: Oh, I expect this one won't write that sort 
of rubbish. 

Broxopp: Rubbish? I don't call that rubbish. 
Nancy: Well, then, nonsense, darling. Only — I 
rather like nonsense. 

(Nancy goes- out. Left alone, the Great Broxopp 
gets recrdy. He spreads out his tie, fingers 
his buttonhole and sees that a volume of 
Shakespeare is well displayed on. the table. 
Then he sits down at his desk and is discov- 
ered by Miss Johns hard at it.) 
Benham: (Announcing.) Miss Johns^ 

(Bcnham goes out, leaving Miss Johns behind; 
a nervous young woman of about thirty, with 
pince nes. But Broxopp is being too quick for 
her. He has whisked the receiver off, and is 
busy saying "Quite so," and ''Certainly" to 
the confusion of the girl at the Exchange.) 
Broxopp: Sit down, Miss Johns, won't you? If 
you'll excuse me just a moment — (Down the tele- 
phone.) Yes . . . yes, certainly . . . Good-bye. (He 
replaces the receiver and turns to her.) Well, Miss 
Johns, and what can I do for you ? 



2i6 The Great Broxopp 

Miss Johns: (Nervously.) You saw my card, Mr. 
Broxopp ? 

Broxopp: Did I? Then where did I put it? 
You're from ? 

Miss J alms: The Daily Gossip. 

Broxopp: Yes, yes, of course. (Encouragingly.) 

And you — er 

(He stands up, so that she can see him better, 
(ind leans against the mantelpiece. A little 
dazzled, she turns away, looks round the room 
for inspiration and catches sight of the pic- 
ture. ) 

Miss Johns: (Imptdsively.) Oh, Mr. Broxopp, is 
that IT? 

Broxopp: (Trying not to he proud.) My boy Jack 
— Eton and Oxford — when he was a baby. You've 
seen the posters, of course. 

Miss Johns: Who hasn't, Mr. Broxopp? 

Broxopp: I always say I owe half my success to 
Jack. He was the first Broxopp baby — and now there 
are a million of them. L don't know whether — er — 
you ? 

Miss Johns: (Coyly.) Oh, you flatter me, Mr. 
Broxopp. I'm" afraid I was born a little top soon. 

Broxopp: A pity, a pity. But no doubt your re- 
lations 

Miss Johns: Oh, yes, my nephews and nieces — they 
are all Broxopp babies. And then I have always felt 
specially interested in Broxopp's Beans, Mr. Broxopp, 
because I live in (archly) in Bloomsbury, Mr. Broxopp, 

Broxopp: Really? When my wife (He looks to- 
wards the door in case she should he choosing that very 
opportune moment to come in.) to whom I owe all my 
success — when my wife and I were first married 



The Great Broxopp 217 

Miss Johns: (Eagerly.) I know, Mr. Broxopp. 
You sec, that's what makes me so interested. I Hve 
at Number 26, too, in the floor below. 

Broxopp: Now, now, do you really? Well, I de- 
clare. That's very curious. 

Miss Johns: I've only been there the last few 
months. But the very first thing they told me when 
I took the room was that the Mr. Broxopp had begun 
his career in that house. 

Broxopp: (Pleased.) Ah, they remember! , . . 
Yes, that was where I began. There was a man called 
Thomson . . . but you wouldn't be interested in him. 
He dropped out very soon. He had no faith. I paid 
him well — I was too generous, my wife said. But it 
was worth it to be alone. Ah, Miss Johns, you see me 
now in my beautiful home, surrounded by pictures, 
books — (lie picks tip the Shakespeare and reads the 
title.) "The Works of Shakespeare" (And puts it down 
again.) — costly furniture — all that money can buy. And 
perhaps you envy me. Yet I think I was happier in 
those old days at Bloomsbury when I was fighting for 
my life . . . Did you ever read a little book called 
"Broxoppiana" ? 

Miss Johns: Now, isn't that funny, Mr. Broxopp? 
I bought it only last Saturday when I was going down 
to my brother's in the country. 

Broxopp: Well, you may remember how I say, "Go- 
ing there is better fun than getting there." It's true. 
Miss Johns. 

Miss Johns: (Proud of knowing it.) Didn't Stev- 
enson say something like that ? 

Broxopp: (Firmly.) Not in my hearing. 

Miss Johns: I mean the Stevenson. I think he said, 
"To travel hopefully is a better thing* than to arrive." 



2i8 The Great Broxopp 

Broxopp: Yes — well, that's another way of putting 
it. To travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive. 
So Stevenson found it out, too, did he? Well, he was 
right . . . All those years when I was building up 
BROXOPP'S Beans I was happy, really happy. I'm a 
fighter. I like taking the Public by the throat and mak- 
ing them look at me. That's over now. I've got 'em 
almost too tame. They come and eat the Beans out of 
my hand. And though my success has given me some- 
thing — a comfortable home — servants to wait upon me 
■ — butlers and what not — the best authors to read — {He 
picks up the Shakespeare and puts it down again.) — 
even a son from Eton and Oxford to gladden my old 
heart — yet I miss something. I miss the struggle of 
those early days when my dear wife and I {He has an- 
other look at the door just in case.) set out together 
hand in hand to beat the world. {Sighing. ) Ah, well ! 
{In a business-like voice.) Now what can I tell you 
about myself, Miss Johns? Pray, don't be afraid of 
making any notes that you like. 

Miss Johns: I shall remember what you said, Mr. 
Broxopp, without taking any notes. 

Broxopp: Ah, well, you must please yourself about 
that. {Looking at his watch.) Now then, I'm waiting 
for you. 

Miss Johns: I {She hesitates.) 

Broxopp: {Kindly.) Perhaps you're not used to 
interviewing? This is the first time you've done it, eh? 

Miss Johns: Well, I don't do it, as a rule. And 
I'm afraid 

Broxopp: Well, perhaps I can help you with it. 
You must send me your manuscript. My wife {He 
looks at the door hopefully.) to whom I owe so much, 
was my first interviewer — ah, that was many years 
ago. She picked up a guinea for it, but that wasn't 



The Great Broxopp 219 

the important thing. It was the publicity. "A Talk 
with one of our Commercial Princes" — and we were 
still in those three little rooms in Bloomsbury, and 
every penny we made went back into the business. One 
of our Commercial Princes — I don't suppose the Editor 
had ever even heard of me. (Chuckling.) Ah, but 
we bluffed him. Lord, how we piled it on. " 'Tell me, 
Mr. Broxopp,' I said — " that was my wife. "Mr. 
Broxopp leant against his marble mantelpiece — " that 
was me — "and fingered the well-known Broxopp tie — " 
(Indicating it) same one as this. "Ah, my dear boy, 
he said — " The dear boy was my wife of course — 
she signed herself N. R. Chillingham, her maiden 
name; you women weren't so popular on the Press in 
those days — we pretended she was a man. "Ah, my 
dear boy, he said, and I shall never forget the look 
which came over his rugged face — " my wife didn't 
like rugged but I insisted ; sounded more like a com- 
mercial prince — " 'there is only one secret of success 
and that is hard work.' " Mind you, I don't believe it 
— imagination is much more important. But they liked 
it in those days. Hard work. It sounded well, and 
woke up all the office boys ; made 'em work like the 
devil. No good telling an office boy that imagination 
is the thing — not while he's working for you. (With 
a sigh.) Ah, well, those days are over. Happy days! 
The world seems to have grown up since then. (Look- 
ing at his watch.) Well, Miss Johns? 

Miss Johns: (Very nervous.) Mr. Broxopp, I don't 
know how to tell you. I didn't really come to inter- 
view at all to-day, I 

Broxopp: (Staggered.) But your card 

Miss Johns: Oh, I am on the press, and please, Mr. 
Broxopp, I shall certainly write an article — perhaps 
two articles — about what you've told me, and I do 



220 The Great Broxopp 

live in the house where you used to Hve, and I was so 
interested in you, but {She hesitates.) 

Broxopp: {Mollified by the two articles.) Well? 

Miss Johns: {Making another effort.) You see, I 
used to live with my brother in the country. And he 
has a small farm. And then I came to London. And 
he has invented a chicken food and it's so good, and I 

told him I'd ask you if You see, I felt that I 

knew you because of where I lived — I wondered — 
{Taking the plunge.) Mr. Broxopp, did you ever 
think of doing anything besides Broxopp's Beans? 

Broxopp: {Nodding to himself.) You wondered 
if I'd take up this food? Put it on the market? Boom 
it? 

Miss Johns: Oh, yes! 

{He thinks it over and then shakes his head 
slowly.) 

Broxopp: You're too late, Miss Johns. 

Miss Johns: Oh, has somebody else 

Broxopp: Twenty- four years too late. Now, if 
you'd come to me twenty-four years ago 

Miss Johns: But I was only six then. {Hastily.) 
I mean, about six. 

Broxopp: Yes, if you'd come to me then 

{Thoughtfully.) Broxopp's Beans for Brahmas — Yes, 
I would have made that go. But not now. It wouldn't 
be fair to the babies. I couldn't do 'em both justice. 
No, Miss Johns, I'm not a financier. I'm not a com- 
pany promoter. I want to put all of myself into any- 
thing I take up, and I couldn't do that now. {Regret- 
fully.) Perhaps if you — {Firmly.) No, Miss Johns. 
{More to himself than to her.) You see, Broxopp's 
Beans for Babies — it isn't just my living, it's my whole 
life. 



The Great Broxopp 221 

Miss Johns: (Getting up.) I'm afraid I oughtn't 
to have mentioned it. 

Broxopp: Oh, that's all right. You'll never get on 
if you don't mention things. {Shaking hands.) Well, 
good-bye. Mind, I shall expect to see that article — 
Two, didn't you say? And if there's anything else you 
want to know — (He stops beneath the picture on his 
way with her to the door.) A pretty baby, wasn't he? 

Miss Johns: Lovely! 

Broxopp: Yes, my wife and I — (The door begins 
to open.) Ah, here she is. (He keeps his attention on 

the picture.) Nancy, we were just looking Hullo, 

Jack! 

Jack: (Coming in.) Sorry. Are you engaged? 
(He sees them beneath that beastly picture, and a look 
of resigned despair comes into his face — he shrugs his 
shoulders. ) 

Broxopp: (To Miss Johns.) My boy Jack. Eton 
and Oxford. 

(And he looks it, too — except perhaps for his 
hair, which is just a little more in keeping 
zvith his artistic future than his educational 
past. ) 

Miss Johns: (Nozv completely upset.) How do you 
do? It's so nice to see the — I mean, we were just 
looking — but I mustn't keep you, Mr. Broxopp — and 
thank you so much, and I'm so sorry that you — but of 
course I quite understand. Good-bye ! Good-bye ! 

(Miss Johns hurries out.) 
Jock: (Strolling towards the sofa.) Bit nervous, 
isn't she? 

Broxopp: You frightened her. 

Jack: (Sitting down.) Fleet Street — and all that? 



222 The Great Broxopp 

Broxopp: Yes. {Looking round the room.) 
Where's my hat? 

Jack: I say, you're not going? 

Broxopp: Must. Got to work, Jack. {Looking at 
him mischievously. ) When are you going to begin ? 

Jack: {Airily.) Oh, as soon as I've got the studio 
fixed up. 

Broxopp: You still want to be an artist? 

Jack: Well, dash it, I've only just begun wanting. 
You've had twenty-five years of Broxopp's Beans — 
and — and I suppose you still want to go on, don't you? 

Broxopp: {Smiling.) Well, that's true. Where's 
my hat? 

Jack: No, look here, don't go yet. 

Broxopp: Must, my boy. 

Jack: Now, what on earth do you suppose is going 
to happen if you leave the Beans alone for one morn- 
ing? Are all the babies going to die? 

Broxopp: What would happen if you were in the 
middle of a picture and left it alone for a morning? 
Nothing. But you might be keen enough to want to go 
on with it. 

Jack: Well, I might be afraid of losing the in- 
spiration, I suppose. 

Broxopp: Exactly. So might I. What's that con- 
founded fellow done with my hat ? 

Jack: {Seriously alarmed.) I say — have you really 
got a new inspiration ? I — I suppose / don't come into 
it? {He jerks his thumb towards the picture.) 

Broxopp: Not this time. 

Jack: {Fervently.) Thank the Lord ... I say, 
never mind about that beastly hat. You've got to stay 
at home this morning. I want to talk to you. 



The Great Broxopp 223 

Broxopp: {Looking up from his search.) Hullo, 
Boy, what's the matter? 

Jack: I say, do sit down — I keep losing sight of 
you. 

(Broxopp sits down obediently.) 

That's better. 

Broxopp: Well? 

Jack: (Defensively.) Well? 

Broxopp: What's happened? 

Jack: What do you mean — happened? 

Broxopp : Well, what is it you want to tell me ? 

Jack: I didn't say I wanted to tell you anything. I 
just said, "Let's have a talk." I don't see why a 
father and a son shouldn't have a little talk together 
sometimes. 

Broxopp: (Gladly.) Neither do I, Jack, Only I 
thought perhaps it wasn't done. Bad form and all 
that. 

Jack: Oh, rot! 

Broxopp: You see, I don't want you to be ashamed 
of me. 

Jack: (Uneasily.) I say, I wish you wouldn't 
talk like that. 

Broxopp: Oh, but I mean it. You see, I'm very 
proud of you, Jack. 

Jack: I'm blessed if I know why you should be. I 
haven't done anything yet. 

Broxopp: Oh, yes, you have. You've called me 
"Father" sometimes when other people have been there. 
That doesn't sound much, perhaps, but it makes me 
proud. 

Jack: (With a smile.) You're much prouder of 
your blessed beans, aren't you? Own up. 



224 The Great Broxopp 

Broxopp: Well, you were born about the same time, 
but I've always had more control over the beans. 

Jack: I say, you aren't still sick because I don't 
want to come into the business? 

Broxopp: I was only saying a few minutes ago that 
children are invariably disappointing when they grow 
up. It isn't their fault. I dare say that we are just 
as disappointing to our children. When they are young 
they think we are wonderful; so wise, so strong, so 
good. And then they grow up and — find us out. So if 
you don't want to come into the business, and do want 
to be an artist, I'm not **sick," even if I am disap- 
pointed. But I dare say I shall get over it. 

Jack: {Nervously.) You know, I rather wonder 
sometimes, now that we've decided that I'm not going 
into it, that you don't chuck it yourself, and retire into 
the country. It's worth a good bit I should think, if 
you did want to sell it. 

Broxopp: {Jokingly.) Would you invest the 
money for me? 

Jack: {With a smile.) Well, I own I had a bit of 
rotten luck last time, but I dare say I'd do it as well 
as you would. 

Broxopp: That's not saying much. I don't pro- 
fess to watch the markets. 

Jack: Neither do I, only young Archie happened to 
say that he'd heard from a man whose uncle knew a 
fellow who — Well, it just didn't come off. that's 
all. But Sir Roger knows all about that sort of thing. 
He'd do it for you. 

Broxopp: Well, if I ever do want to sell it, I dare 
say I'll consult Sir Roger, but that won't be for a long 
time yet. {He gets up.) Well 



The Great Broxopp 225 

Jack: {Jumping up hastily.) No, look here, you 
mustn't go yet. We've only just begun to talk. (Push- 
ing him back into his chair.) That's right. 

Broxopp: (Good-humouredly.) Is this a con- 
spiracy to keep me away from the office, or what ? 

Jack: (Plunging at it.) Dad, you see before you 
the happiest man in the world 

Broxopp : ( Surprised. ) Oh ! 

Jack: Only, it's dashed difficult. (Having another 
shot.) What do you think Mother's doing at this mo- 
ment? 

Broxopp: Just what I've been wondering. I 
wanted her in here. 

Jack: Yes, well, she's upstairs, introducing herself 
to her future daughter-in-law. 

Broxopp : Jack ! Who ? 

Jack: Iris Tenterden. (But he can't help ^eing 
self-conscious about it.) 

Broxopp: (Eagerly.) My dearest Jack ! So that's 
what you've been trying to get out all this time! (He 
comes forward with both hands held out.) But I'm 
delighted ! 

Jack: (More moved than he means to show.) 
Thanks, Dad ! 

Broxopp: (Pulling himself up humorously.) Tut, 
tut, I was forgetting. (Formally.) May I congratu- 
late you, Mr. Broxopp. 

Jack: (Smiling.) Silly old ass! 

Broxopp: (Sitting on the sofa with him.) But this 
is wonderful news. Why aren't you more excited? 
(Apologetically.) I mean as excited as Eton and Ox- 
ford will permit? 

Jack: You do Hke her? 



226 The Great Broxopp 

Broxopp: Certainly. She has a way of — a way of — 
Well, I can't put it into words, Jack, but she's the only 
one of your friends who has told me frankly that she 
doesn't like my tie. The others try to convey the 
impression that I'm not wearing a tie at all — that I am 
in Holy Orders, or if not in Holy Orders, have a very 
large beard which — {He indicates with his hand how 
such a beard would completely cover his tie. ) 

Jack: Well, but your tie is a bit — well, you know, 
I mean frankly, isn't it? 

Broxopp: (Smiling.) Yes, but so am I a bit — well, 
you know, I mean frankly, aren't I ? It I hadn't been, 
you would never have gone to Eton and Oxford. But 
don't think I don't like Iris. I do — immensely. Well, 
if you're as happy together as Nancy and I have been, 
you'll do. Twenty-five years. Jack, and I always say 
that 

Jack: Good old Dad. She's a ripper, isn't she? 

Broxopp: (Nodding to himself.) She'll do you a 
lot of good. But tell me more about it. When did 
you first discover that she was — a ripper? 

Jack: Oh, months ago, but we only fixed it up at 
that dance last night. I pushed round this morning 
to see Sir Roger and talk things over. He's coming 
round for a pow-wow directly. 

Broxopp: My boy married! And it seems only 
yesterday that your Mother and I were just beginning 
to keep house together, and there was no Jack at all. 

Jack : Well, of course, it seems longer ago than that 
to me. 

Broxopp: (Looking at the picture.) "I am a 
Broxopp baby, are you ?" Perhaps one of these days 



The Great Broxopp '22^ 

Jack: Steady on, Dad. You're not going to talk 
to Iris like that, I hope. 

Broxopp: {With a daugh.) I shall be strictly 
proper and respectable, my boy. Not a word shall 
escape my lips of which you would disapprove. 

Jack: You know what I mean. When a young girl 
has only just got engaged, you don't want to start 

talking about 

Broxopp: {Gravely.) Say no more. And so Sir 
Roger is coming round too, is he? 
Jack : Yes. 

Broxopp: What does he say about it? 
Jack: {Knozuing that it's got to come now.) Well, 
that's just it. You see Iris and I — I mean he and I — 
well, of course I always thought so — I mean I don't 
want you to think that Iris — though naturally she 
agrees with me — well, we think, I mean I think — oh, 
thank the Lord — here is Iris. 

{Iris comes in with Nancy — tall, cool, confident 
with something of the •hoy in her; utterly 
honest and unafraid. But even if you don't 
like these qualities, you forgive her because 
she is lovely.) 
Nancy: Jack's told you, Jim? 

Broxopp: Yes, the rascal. Iris! {He holds out his 
hands to her.) 

Iris: {Taking them.) Daddy Broxopp! Bend 
down. 

{He bends towards her and she kisses him 
gently on the forehead.) 
There ! You don't mind being called Daddy Broxopp ! 
Nancy doesn't mind; I mean being called Nancy. I've 
been talking it over with her, and she's going to let 
me call her Nancy because she's so young and pretty. 



228 The Great Broxopp 

Broxopp: {Enjoying it.) And I'm not young and 
pretty ? 

Iris: No, you're middle-aged and Broxoppy. It's 
a nice thing to be. 

Broxopp: (Taking her hands again.) Thank you 
for thinking her young and pretty. 

Nancy: I don't feel very young, with a big son 
wanting to get married. 

Iris: He? He's only a baby. (She hlozus a kiss to 
the picture.) 

Jack: (Resigned.) Oh, Lord! 

Broxopp: Well, Iris, if you're as happy together as 
Nancy and I have been, you'll do. Twenty-five years 
we have been married and I always say that if it hadn't 
been for Nancy 

Nancy: (Stopping him.) Yes, dear. 

Iris: If it hadn't been for Nancy, there wouldn't 
have been a Jack for me to marry. 

Broxopp: Well, that's true . . . And now, what 
does Sir Roger say about it ? 

(Jack and Iris look at each other.) 
Hullo, he does say something about it? 

Nancy: I think we'd better sit down, darling, and 

(She leads the way to the sofa.) 

( They sit down. ) 

Broxopp: Well, what is it? Jack's been trying to 
get something out for the last five minutes. 

Iris: Jack, you're a coward. I wasn't. I told 
Nancy. 

Jack: Oh, all right then . . . Look here, Dad, 
you'll think me a beast for what I'm going to say, but 
I want you and Mother to understand that it's not just 
a sudden idea put into my head by — (He looks at Iris 



The Great Broxopp 229 

and goes on.) by Sir Roger, but it's what I've felt for 
years. 

Broxopp : Well ? 

(Nancy takes his hand and presses it.) 

Jack: Well then — I'm — I'm (From the heart.\ 

Well, I'm simply fed up with Broxopp's Beans. 

Broxopp: {Surprised.) But — but you haven't had 
them since you were a baby. 

Jack: (Seeing the opening.) Haven't had them? 
Have I ever stopped having them? Weren't they 
rammed down my throat at school till I was sick of 
them? Did they ever stop pulling my leg about them 
at Oxford? Can I go anywhere without seeing that 
beastly poster — a poster of me — me, if you please — 
practically naked — telling everybody that I love my 
Beans. (Bitterly.) Love them! Don't I see my 
name — Broxopp, Broxopp, Broxopp — everywhere in 
every size of lettering — on every omnibus, on every 
hoarding; spelt out in three colours at night — 
B-R-O-X-O-P-P— until I can hardly bear the sight 
of it. Free bottles given away on my birthday, free 
holidays for Broxopp mothers to celebrate my coming 
of age ! I'm not a man at all. I'm just a living adver- 
tisement of Beans. 

Broxopp: (Quietly.) I think that's putting it a 
little too strongly, Jack. 

Nancy presses his hand and strokes it gently. 

Jack: I know it is, but that's how I've felt some- 
times. Of course I know that if it hadn't been for 
Broxopp, I'd be sitting on a high stool and lucky to 
earn thirty bob a week. But you must see my side of 
it, Dad. I want to paint. How can anyone called 
Broxopp be taken seriously as an artist? How can I 
make any sort of name with all those Beans and babies 
overshadowing me and keeping me out of the light ? I 



230 The Great Broxopp 

don't say I'm ever going to be a great painter, but 
how do I stand a chance as things are? "Have you 
seen the new Broxopp"? What's that going to mean 
to anybody? Not that I've painted a picture, but that 
you've brought out a new-sized bottle, or a full 
strength for Invalids, or something. 

Broxopp: I think you exaggerate. Jack, 

Jack: I know I do. But you can't get over it that 
it's going to be pretty rotten for me. It's always been 
rotten for me — and now it's going to be rotten for Iris. 

Broxopp: Is it, Iris? You'd tell me the truth, I 
know. 

Iris: I want to marry Jack, Daddy Broxopp. But 
I don't want to marry the Beans. I told Nancy so. 

Nancy: {To Broxopp.) I do understand, dear. 

Jack: I don't want you to think that Iris put this 
into my head. It's always been there. 

Iris: {Frankly.) I expect I brought it out, though. 

Broxopfi: And what does Sir Roger say about it? 

Jack: {Bitterly.) Sir Roger says that his grandson 
is not going to have a name that every Tom, Dick and 
Harry gapes at on the hoardings. 

Iris: I ought to explain that Jack wants to marry 
me, not Father's way of expressing himself. I told 
Father so. 

Jack: Still, you do see his — well, our point of view? 
Don't you, Dad? 

Nancy: Oh yes, dear. 

Broxopp: Certainly, my boy. 

Jack: {Relieved.) Good man. I thought you 
would. 

Broxopp: {Getting up.) The only thing I'm won- 



The Great Broxopp 231 

dering is whether there is any chance of your seeing 
mine. 

Jack : ( Surprised. ) Yours ? 

Broxopp : ( On his own hearth — The Great Broxopp 
— but speaking quietly.) I was educated at a Board 
school, Iris — I dare say you've noticed it. I used to 
drop my aitches — I don't think you've noticed that — 
Nancy got me out of it. I wear funny clothes — partly 
because it is in keeping with the name I have made for 
myself; partly, I dare say, because I've got no taste. 
But, you see, at fourteen, the age at which Jack went 
to Eton, I was earning my own living. I took a resolve 
then. I told myself that one day I would make my 
name of Broxopp, famous. I made it famous. My 
name ; Broxopp. Well, that's all. That's my point of 
view. But don't think I don't see yours. 

(Iris looks at him wonderingly and then goes 
over and kisses Nancy. ) 

Iris: (Sitting by Nancy's side.) You must be very, 
very proud of him. 

Nancy: I am, dear; he knows it. 

Jack: (Miserably.) Well, of course, when you 
talk like that, you only make me feel an utter beast. 

Iris: (With a sigh.) The only thing is that the 
utter beast feeling might pass off. Whereas the feeling 
about Broxopp's Beans never will. It's a rotten thing 
to say, but I expect it's true. 

(There is a moment's silence, broken by the 
arrival of Sir Roger Tenterden. He is a mag- 
nificent looking man, with a military mous- 
tache and tight-fitting black tail coat with a 
light waistcoat. His manner is superb — the 
sort of manner that can borrow a thousand 
pounds from anybody and leave the creditor 



2'^2 The Great Broxopp 

with the feeling that he has had a favour con- 
ferred upon him. He is an intense egotist, 
although his company does not always realise 
it. 

The three Broxopps are distinctly over-awed by 
him; Jack, of course, less than the other two.) 
Benham: (Enjoying it.) Sir Roger Tenterden! 

(Exit Benham.) 

Tenterden: How do you do, Mrs. — ah — Broxopp. 
(Metaphorically they all stand to attention.) 

Nancy: How do you do, Sir Roger? 

Tenterden: How do, Broxopp? Ah, Jack — Iris. 

Nancy: Where will you sit, Sir Roger? 

Tenterden: Don't trouble, I beg you. (The best 
chair is ready for him.) I shall be all right here. (He 
sits down.) You will forgive me for intruding upon 
you in the morning, but having just heard the great 
news — well, we must congratulate each other — eh, Mrs. 
Broxopp ? (He smiles pleasantly at her. ) 

Nancy: (Smiling too.) Indeed, we must. 

Broxopp: (Flattered.) That's very good of you. 
Sir Roger. I need hardly say how delighted I am that 
Jack and — er — your Iris should have 

Tenterden: Quite so, quite so. Well, they've fixed 
it up between themselves without consulting us, Mrs. 
Broxopp — quite right too, eh, Iris? — eh, Jack — 
(He gives them his pleasant smile.) — bwt we old people 
must come in at the end and have our say. Eh, 
Broxopp? 

Broxopp : Very glad to talk over anything you like, 
Sir Roger — . Of course, I s-hould give Jack a suit- 
able allowance 

Tenterden: (Holding up a protesting hand.) Ah, 



The Great Broxopp 233 

well — that — I — have no doubt whatever — I too would 
see that my daughter — but all that can be arranged 
later. That goes without saying. But naturally there 
are also other matters which will require to be dis- 
cussed. I don't know if Jack 

Iris: You mean about the Beans? I told Daddy 
Broxopp. 

Tenterden: (Blankly.) You told — ah? 

Iris: (Indicating Broxopp.) Daddy Broxopp. 

Broxopp: (With a proud smile.) What she is 
pleased to call me, Sir Roger. 

Tenterden: Oh — ah — yes. Quite so-. Well there, 
we all understand the position. (With his pleasant 
smile.) That clears the ground, doesn't it, Mrs. 
Broxopp ? 

Nancy: It's much better to have things out. 

Tenterden : You put it admirably. It was with that 
purpose that I came round this morning. Jack had 
given me a hint of his feelings and — well, naturally, I 
had my feelings, too. It is a matter which, after all, 
concerns me very closely. 

Broxopp : ( Puzzled. ) Yes ? 

Tenterden: Surely, my dear Broxopp! Iris's child. 
Jack's child, would be — my grandson! 

Iris: (To Broxopp.) Father always looks well 
ahead. They have to in the City — don't they, father ? 

Tenterden: (Kindly.) My dear Iris, we have to do 
many things in the City, as Mr. Broxopp knows 

Broxopp: Oh, I know nothing of your part of the 
City. I'm not a financier. It's no good coming to nie 
for a good investment. 

Tenterden: (With a how.) Then may I hope that 
you will come to me if ever you should want one ? 



234 The Great Broxopp 

Broxopp: {Taken aback.) Thank you. It's very 
good of you, Sir Roger. 

Tenterden: Not at all. But I was saying that we 
need not talk about the City now. In all walks of life 
we have to look ahead. And I have to ask myself this. 
Mrs. Broxopp. Is "Roger Broxopp" a desirable name 
for my grandson, in the circumsta«ces? 

Iris: {Tv Jack.) Father's got as far .as the chris- 
tening now. I shall have another baby directly. 

Jack: (Miserably.) I wish he wouldn't. 

Broxopp: I see your point of view. Sir Roger. 
Don't think that I don't see it. 

Tenterden: {Bowing.) That is very generous of 
you. And I think it is important. There is — ah — a 
poster to which my attention has naturally be^n called, 
saying — ah — "I am a Broxopp — ah — baby, are you?" 
I think — {He looks enquiringly at Broxopp.) 

Broxopp: That's right, Sir Roger. I thought of 
that twenty-five years ago. Do you remember, Nancy ? 

Nancy: {Pressing his hand.) I remember, Jim. 

Tenterden: An excellent poster for its purpose, I 
have no doubt, Mr.s. Broxopp. An excellent picture, 
no doubt, of Master Jack at that age. {He smiles at 
Jack.) But seeing that all babies are pretty much 
alike 

Nancy: {Quickly.) Oh no! 

Tenterden: {With a charming bow.) Who would 
contradict a woman on such a question? Let me say 
rather that since, to the undiscerning male, all babies 
are alike, there would be the danger, the very serious 
danger, that people might suppose the words beneath 
the picture to have been uttered by — {he pauses dra- 
matically.) my grandson! 

Iris: Roger Broxopp. 



The Great Broxopp 235 

Tenterden: Exactly. A Broxopp baby. (To 
Broxopp.) Of course I am saying nothing against the 
food, which is, I am sure, admirably suited for its pur- 
pose. I am merely looking at the matter in the interests 
of — my grandson. 

Broxopp: Quite so, Sir Roger, quite so. You see 
that, Nancy? 

Nancy: Oh yes, dear. 

Tenterden: Well, my friend Jack has been talking 
it over with me. I think we agree that (to Nancy) for 
Mr. Broxopp to retire from the business — and I am 
sure he has well earned his rest after all these years of 
strenuous work — for him to retire and settle down in 
the country, would not altogether meet the case. The 
name of Broxopp would continue with the business — 
one could not get away from it. (To Broxopp.) I 
think I am right in saying that? 

Broxopp: Undoubtedly, Sir Roger. The name is 
the business. 

Tenterden: That was my view. So our friend Jack 
and I think that something more must be done. A 
question merely of another name. He has suggested, 
my dear Mrs. Broxopp, (with a bow) your name, Chil- 
lingham. 

Broxopp: I don't quite understand. 

Tenterden: Merely that you should start your new 
life — freed from the cares of business — as — ah — Chil- 
lingham. 

Broxopp : Oh ! 

Iris: (To herself.) Roger Chillingham. 

Tenterden: (Charmingly to Nancy.) A name I 
should be proud for my grandson to bear. I seem to 
remember a Chillingham in the Coldstream with me 
years ago. Are yours military people? 



2^(} The Great Broxopp 

Nancy: Oh yes. My father was a sergeant-major 
in the Wiltshire's. 

Tenterden: {Bearing it gallantly.) Ah! A young- 
er branch, no doubt. But it is a good name, ChiUing- 
ham. After all, why should the wife always take the 
husband's name? Eh, Mrs. Broxopp? Why should 
not the husband take the wife's, the son take the 
mother's . . . Jack Chillingham to Iris Tenterden. 
And a handsome couple, are they not ? I shall be proud 
of my grandson. 

Iris: {Amused, as always, by her father.) Say 
something, Jack. A few words of thanks. 

Tenterden: You agree with me. Jack? 

Jack: {Mum\bHng.) I've been telling father. 

Broxopp: Of course, I quite see your point of view, 
Sir Roger. Don't think that I don't see it perfectly. 
You see it, don't you, Nancy? 

Nancy: Oh yes, dear. I should be very proud for 
you to take my name. Just as I was very proud to take 
yours. 

Tenterden: Charmingly put, Mrs. Broxopp. But 
alas! It is no longer your husband's name. He has 
been too generous with it. He has given it to the world. 
That is what I have to think of — for my grandson. 
{He gets up.) Well, Mrs. Broxopp, I have to thank 
you for listening to me so courteously, and I need not 
tell you how glad I am that we see eye to eye in this 
matter. Broxopp, we must have a talk some day in 
the City. And if I can be of any assistance to you in 
the matter of your investments, or in any other partic- 
ular, pray regard me as entirely at your service. 

Broxopp: It's very good of you. Sir Roger, 

Tenterden: Not at all. Jack, you're dining with us 
tonight, I understand. If you can spare him, Mrs. 
Broxopp. Well, I must get along to the City. Busy 



The Great Broxopp 237 

times just now. Good-bye, and again my apologies for 
interrupting your morning. 

Nancy: Good-bye, Sir Roger. {She rings the 
hell) 

Tenterden: Then I shall be seeing you one of these 
days, Broxopp. Good-bye ! 

(He goes beautifully out. 

There is silence after he has gone. The Broxopps 

are a little overwhelmed. 
Then Broxopp goes over to the fireplace, and 

stands with his hack to it. In this position he 

feels more like himself.) 

Broxopp: Well, Jack? 

{Jack says nothing. Iris goes over to Nancy 
and sits he side her.) 

Iris: {To Nancy.) He's a little overwhelming, 
isn't he? But you get used to it — and then you aren't 
overwhelmed. 

Nancy: {Shaking her head at Iris.) Iris! 

Iris: Nancy thinks I'm too modern. She's afraid 
that when we go out together, everybody will say, 
"What a very fast creature, Mrs. Broxopp's elder sis- 
ter is!" 

Broxopp: Mrs. Chillingham's elder sister, isn't it? 

Iris: So it is. Daddy Chillingham. 

Jack: {Getting firmly to his feet.) Look here. Dad, 
if you don't change yours, I don't change mine. But 
if you think you have given the beans a good run for 
their money, and you like to sell out and settle down in 
the country as Chillingham, well, I'll say thank you. 
Iris and I have got precious little right to ask it, and 
Sir Roger has got no right at all 



238 The Great Broxopp 

Iris: (Rising and protesting in the Tenterden man- 
ner. ) Surely, my dear Broxopp, I have a right to con- 
sider — my grandson! 

Jack: Shut up, Iris, for a moment — no right at all, 
but — but I'll thank you. Only I'm not going to be 
Chillingham while you and mother are Broxopp. I've 
made up my mind about that. 

Iris: (Taking his arm.) And I'm not going to be 
Tenterden, while all of you are Chillingham, I've made 
up my mind about that. 

Broxopp: Is there any reason why I shouldn't keep 
on the business as Chillingham ? 

Jack: (Doubtfully.) N — no. 
Iris: As long as you make Jack a good allowance. 
Jack: Shut up, Iris. 

Iris: Well, that's what it comes to, darling. Wc 
may as well be honest about it. 

Nancy: ( To Iris.) Don't make it too hard for him 
And of course Jim will make him an allowance until 
his painting brings him in enough for both of you. 

Broxopp: (After a pause.) Jack, does Eton and 
Oxford allow you to kiss Iris sometimes? 

Iris: I allow him to. 

Broxopp: Well, there's an empty drawing-room 
upstairs. You will probably be interrupted by a gentle- 
man called Benham who has a way of coming in where 
he's not wanted. But if you tell him your aren't mar- 
ried to each other he won't mind. 

Jack: (Awkwardly.) Oh, it's all right — very 
decent of you, but 

Iris: (Getting up and taking him firmly by the 
arm.) Come along. 

Jack: Yes, but hadn't we better 



The Great Broxopp 239 

Iris: Jack, do you really think Daddy Broxopp is 
being tactful? 

Jack: Well, of course it's 

Iris: Oh, my dear we aren't the only pair of lovers 
in the house. Can't you see that they want to be alone ? 

Jack : ( Stuttering. ) Oh — oh ! 

(She leads him away.) 

Broxopp: (Smiling.) She'll teach you a lot, my 
boy. 

Iris: (Stopping beneath the picture with the unwill- 
ing Jack. ) Good-bye, Baby Broxopp ! 

(She blows a kiss to it and they go out. Broxopp 
goes over to his wife and sits on the sofa 
with her. She takes his hand.) 

Nancy: Darling, do you mind very much? 

Broxopp: I wonder if Jack's painting is ever going 
to come to anything. 

Nancy: He must find that out for himself, mustn't 
he ? We can't help him. 

Broxopp: Iris is a fine girl; I like a girl who tells 
the truth. 

Nancy: (Smiling to herself.) I don't think you'd 
have liked her to write your advertisements. 

Broxopp: (Chuckling.) Well done, Nancy. You've 
got me there. 

Nancy: Say you liked me doing them. 

Broxopp: (Gravely.) I liked you doing them. 
I've liked everything you've ever done for me . . . All 
the same, Nancy, we were truthful. (After a pause.) 
Artistically truthful. An artist is a man who knows 
what to leave out. Did I say that in Broxoppiana? 



240 The Great Broxopp 

(Remembering suddenly that there will never he an- 
other edition.) Oh, well, it doesn't matter now. 

Nancy: You won't mind very much? We've had 
our time. It's Jack's time now. 

Broxopp: Yes, we've had our time. Twenty-five 
years. After all, we've had the best of the fun, Nancy. 
It's the going there, not the being there, that counts. 
Sir Roger is quite right about the name. It has been 
a handicap to Jack — I can see it now. It mustn't be a 
handicap to Jack's son. 

Nancy: There's no reason why you shouldn't keep 
on with the business if you like. 

Broxopp: {Doubtfully.) I don't think Sir Roger 



Nancy: But it's for you to decide. 

Broxopp: {Jumping up.) No, I'll do the thing 
handsomely! You didn't marry a baronet, Nancy, an 
old county name, but there's a Broxopp way as well as 
a Tenterden way. I do my things the Broxopp way, 
and the Great Broxopp is not the man for half-meas- 
ures. We'll make a clean sweep of it all. We'll rest 
— you and I together in the country — Mr. and Mrs. 
Chillingham. You've given me everything, you won't 
mind giving me your name? 

Nancy: {Entranced by him.) Jim, you are the 
Great Broxopp! 

Broxopp: {Entranced by himself.) I am! {He 
takes her hands and lifts her out of the sofa.) Propose 
to me, Nancy I 

Nancy: {Putting her arms round him.) Jim, I 
love you; will you marry me and live with me in the 
country and take my name? 

Broxopp: I will. {He kisses her, tiuts her hack in 



The Great Broxopp 241 

the sofa and goes to the telephone. It is good-bye nozu 
to the beans.) Central 99199 . . . Hullo, is Mr. 
Morris in? Broxopp speaking . . . Broxopp speak- 
ing . . . Good heavens, haven't you ever heard the 
name of Broxopp before? For the last time — (He 
looks up at Nancy.) for the last time, Nancy — (Down 
the telephone very firmly.) Broxopp speaking! 

Curtain. 



ACT III 

Scene: The big hall in the country place which Mr. 
Chillingham {nee Broxopp) has bought. Through 
the open front doors can be seen a hint of the drive 
and the park beyond. It was Jack who chose it, 
and he has done the Great Broxopp rather well; 
there was no such view from that third floor in 
Bloonisbury. 

It is about four o'clock in the afternoon. 
Hidden away in a big armchair sits Nora Field, 
deep in a book. She is about twenty, wears a very 
short tweed skirt and very serviceable country 
shoes, has very decided opinions, and no hesitation 
at all about expressing them. Sir Roger Tenterden 
comes in, and begins to look about for a paper, but 
only finds Norah. 

Tenterden: Hullo, Norah, didn't see you. Have 
you seen the Financial Times anywhere ? 

Norah: {Without looking up.) No. Is it any- 
where ? 

Tenterden: I had it in here before lunch. Perhaps 
Benham has taken it away. {He rings the bell.) 
Where's everybody? 

Norah: Jack and Iris are playing billiards. Ron- 
nie's watching them and trying to pretend that he 
doesn't want to play himself. Mr. Chillingham is still 
out, I think. Fishing. 

Tenterden: Fish ought to be rising today. 

Norah : Yes. 

Tenterden: And so you're all alone, eh? 

242 



The Great Broxopp 243 

Norah : ( With a meaning that escapes Sir Roger. ) 
I never mind being alone. 

{Enter Benham.) 

Benham: Yes, sir? 

Tenterden: Ah, Benham, have you seen the Finan- 
cial Times anywhere ? 

Benham: Not since it arrived this morning, sir. 
Tenterden : I thought you might have taken it away. 
It was here before lunch. 

Benham: I take in the Financial Neivs myself, 
sir. If you would care to see it 

Tenterden: Thanks. You might bring it along to 
the morning room. And just have a look in the library 
to see if I left the Times there. 

Benham: Yes, sir. 

Tenterden: And bring me a whiskey and soda along 
to the morning room, too. I shan't want any tea. 

Benham: Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. 

{Exit Benham.) 

Tenterden: I didn't know Benham watched the 
markets. 

Norah: I suppose he's wondering what to do with 
my ten shillings when I go. 

Tenterden: {Hospitably.) Oh, you're not going 
yet, I hope. 

Norah: No, not just yet. 

Tenterden: Well, I must get back to my work. 
There's some funny things happening in the City just 
now, and one wants to be pretty wide awake. 

Norah: I suppose so. 

{As Tenterden goes out, Ronny Derwent comes 
in.) 



244 The Great Broxopp 

Tenterden: Hullo, Ronny. I suppose you haven't 
taken the Financial Timesf 

Ronny: Good Lord, no. What's the good of it to 
mef I expect Mr. Chillingham had it round his sand- 
wiches. 

Tenterden: {With a laugh.) I hope not. 

{Tenterden goes out. 

Ronny is also twenty, hut younger than Norah, 
and zuith no views on life other than that 
one's hair ought to be kept well dozun. With- 
out seeing Norah, he rings the bell and lights 
a cigarette while waiting for Benham to 
come in. 
Enter Benham.) 
Ronny: Oh, I want a whiskey and soda, please, Ben- 
ham. 

Benham: Yes, sir. 

Norah: {From her chair.) You don't really want 
one, Ronny. 

Ronny: Good Lord ! I didn't know you were there. 

Norah: Mr. Derwent won't have a whiskey and 
soda, Benham ; you can get him a glass of water if he's 
thirsty. 

Ronny: Look here, Norah — {She looks at him and 
he ends up weakly.) Oh, very well. 

Benham: Will you have the glass of water, sir? 
Ronny: {Sulkily.) No, thanks. 
Benham: Thank you, sir. 
{Benham goes out.) 

Ronny: I didn't know you were here. All the 
same, I don't know why I shouldn't have a drink if I 
want one. 

Norah: I can't stand the way you children are 



The Great Broxopp 245 

always wanting to drink. You've done nothing to 
make you thirsty. 

Ronny: If you knew a bit more, you'd know that 
it's doing nothing that makes you thirsty. Talk to me 
and I'll struggle on without it. What are you reading? 

Norah: Nobody you've ever heard of. A man 
called Meredith. 

Ronny: Oh! Any good? 

Norah: {Looking at him with a smile.) In his 
way. A different way from the Winning Post, you 
know. 

Ronny: {Wanting to he fair.) Oh well, there's no 
accounting for tastes. Now, what do you think I 
found old man Chillingham reading last night ? 

Norah: {Returning to her hook.) Don't know. 

Ronny: Broxoppiana. Ever heard of it? 

Norah: I've seen it on the book stalls. 

Ronny: Broxoppiana. That's the name of the her- 
oine, I suppose. And no better than she should be, if 
you ask me, because when the old man Chillingham 
saw I was looking he slipped the book intO' his pocket 
and pretended to be very busy over another one. 

Norah: And I suppose you looked over his shoulder 
and found out what that one was, too? 

Ronny: Well, if you want to know, I didn't. I 
knew what it was without looking over his shoulder. 
It was the Science of Dry Fly Fishing. Old man 
Chillingham trying to be a sportsman in his old age. 

Norah: {Shutting her hook.) I think you had bet- 
ter have that whiskey and soda, Ronny. At any rate 
it will prevent you trying to discuss your host with 
another of his guests. 

Ronny: Rot, old girl. Jack's my host. 
Norah: This is not Jack's house. 



246 The Great Broxopp 

Ronny: Then why did Iris write to me as if it was? 
"Dear Ronny, do come and spend a few days with us, 
yours sincerely. Iris Chillingham." How's that, eh? 

Norah: (Patiently.) It is Mr. ChilHngham's 
house, but Mrs. ChilHngham has been away for a few 
weeks. So Iris is playing hostess. I happened to 
mention that I had a disreputable little boy cousin 
called Ronald Derwent, and she very kindly 

Ronny: Not so much of it, Norah. I knew Iris 
before you did, and I knew Jack as soon as you did. 
And if it's old man ChilHngham's house, all I can say 
is that old man Chillingham has got a very pretty 
taste in claret. 

Norah: Really, Ronny, to hear you talk about 
claret anybody would think that you were grown up. 
Whereas we all know what you do with your three- 
pence a week every Saturday. Peardrops, my lad, 
peardrops. 

Ronny: (Grimly.) Very well, Norah, now you've 
done for yourself. 

(He seizes a cushion and advances upon her. 
She jumps out of the chair and runs to the 
other side of the hall, picking up a cushion on 
the way. ) 

Norah: You'll get your hair ruffled if you aren't 
careful. 

Ronny: You'll be lucky if you have any hair left 
by the time I've finished with you. (He hurls a cush- 
ion at her.) 

Norah: Oh, rotten shot. 

(He goes to the sofa to get more cushions and 
dodges behind it as she flings hers at him. 
She rushes to the sofa and bangs at his head 
as it appears cautiously over the hack. She 



The Great Broxopp 247 

runs back again just as Benham is crossing 
the hall with Sir Roger's whiskey and 
papers. ) 

Ronny: {Who is about to throw a cushion.) All 
right, Benham. You go on. 

Benham: {Politely.) After you, sir. 

{The cushion whizzes past Benham' s head at 
Norah. ) 
Thank you, sir. {He goes on to the morning room.) 
{Norah rushes at Ronny and belabours him with 
the cushion. Ronny breaks away from her 
and runs out of the hall, Norah in pursuit, 
knocking over a chair or two on his way. 
Benham comes back again. As he crosses by 
the window, Broxopp is seen approaching 
from the outside. Benham goes to the front 
door and opens it for Broxopp. 
Broxopp is now the complete country gentle- 
man with fishing outfit. But he looks un- 
happy in his new clothes and is not the 
Broxopp he was.) 
Broxopp: Ah, Benham. 

Benham: {Taking his things.) Any sport, sir? 
Broxopp: No . . . That is to say, / didn't have 
any. I can't speak for the fish. 

Benham: I've heard gentlemen say that it can be a 
very attractive recreation even when {he looks into the 
obviously empty basket) — as in this case, sir. 

Broxopp: To a man who really enjoys fishing — as 
I am told I do — no doubt that is so. 

Benham: Yes, you're quite an enthusiast, sir. 
Broxopp: So they assure me, Benham. Golf is an- 
other pastime to which — I understand — I am devoted. 
{He looks in astonishment at the disordered hall, with 



248 The Great Broxopp 

its overturned chairs and scattered cushions.) Has 
anything been happening? 

Benham: (As he begins to restore the place to 
order.) Nothing at all out of the way, sir. 

Broxopp : ( Surprised. ) Oh ! 

Benham: Quite a feature of the best country-house 
life, sir, as you might say. The younger members of 
the party are often extremely partial to it. In this 
case, sir, Mr. Derwent and Miss Field were letting off 
their high spirits with a few cushions. It brought back 
the old castle days very pleasurably, sir. 

Broxopp: Yes . . . Yes . . . They come back, 
the old days, don't they, Benham ? 

Benham: They do indeed, sir. 

Broxopp: (With a sigh.) Yes. Mrs. Chillingham 
has not arrived yet, I suppose ? 

Benham: No, sir. Is she expected back this after- 
noon ? 

Broxopp: Of course she is. The 4.10. (Looking 
at his zvatch.) I suppose the train was late. Didn't 
Mr. Jack tell you about sending in the car? 

Benham: I have not had any instructions myself, 
sir, but no doubt he informed the chauffeur. He was 
down at the stables after lunch with Mr. Derwent. 

Broxopp: Ah, yes . . . Well, I'll go and wash. 
(He moves off.) 

Benham : Thank you, sir. 
(Benham goes off. 
Broxopp is still in the hall, putting a cushion or 

two straight, when 

Ronny comes hack, his hair rather rumpled.) 
Ronny: Hullo! Any luck? 



The Great Broxopp 249 

Broxopp: {Wishing to he fair to the sport.) Com- 
pared with yesterday — yes. 

Ronny: What happened yesterday? 

Broxopp: I fell in. 

Ronny: {Tittering.) Bad luck. I'm not fright- 
fully keen on fishing myself — I prefer golf. We're 
having a foursome after tea; I expect you'd rather. 
practice by yourself, wouldn't you? 

Broxopp: Thank you, I shall not be playing golf 
after tea today. 

Ronny: I thought you were so frightfully keen. 
Jack said so. 

Broxopp: Ah, well, Jack would know. But, you 
see, Mrs. Chillingham will be here directly 

Ronny: {Surprised.) Oh, is she coming back ? 

Broxopp: {Nodding.) Yes. She has been away 
three weeks now, staying in London with her sister. 
She'll be glad to get back. She is very fond of the 
country, you know. And this house. 

Ronny: {Kindly.) Well, it isn't half a bad place, 
really. I don't know what the shooting's like. 

Broxopp: Very good, Jack's friends tell me . . . 
Well, I must go and wash, if you will excuse me, Mr. 
Derwent. 

Ronny: {With a nod.) Righto. 

{Broxopp goes out. 

Ronny lights a cigarette and goes across to the 
billiard-room door and opens it.) 
Good Lord, haven't you finished yet? 
Jack: {From inside.) This very minute as ever is. 

{Iris and Jack come out together.) 
Iris: Mrs. Chillingham junior ran out a winner 



250 The Great Broxopp 

with an unfinished break of two . . . My dear Ronny, 
what ha^ue you been doing to your hair ? 

Ronny: {Looking at himself in the glass — horri- 
fied.) Good Lord, I oughtn't to be seen Hke this. (He 
hurries out.) 

Jack: I suppose I was as young as Ronny once, but 
it must have been a long time ago. He makes me feel 
an old, old man. 

Iris: (Smiling at him.) You don't look it, you 
know. 

Jack: That's because I'm such a good actor. (He 
goes to the bell and rings it.) Shall we have tea in 
here? 

Iris: If you like. 

Jack: I suppose Dad isn't back yet . . . (sud- 
denly in dismay. ) Oh, Lord ! 

Iris: What is it, darling? Have you been bad ? 

Jack: I'm a blessed idiot. 

Benham: (Coming in.) Yes, sir? 

Jack: Benham, is anyone meeting the 4.10? 

Benham: I have given no instructions in the matter 
myself, sir. 

Iris: Jack, do you mean to say that nobody is meet- 
ing Nancy? 

Jack: Kick me if you like, darling. It's my fault 
entirely. (Looking at his watch.) Send the car at 
once, Benham. It will probably be too late, but it can 
bring the luggage along. 

Benham: Yes, sir. 

Jack: (To Iris.) I'm afraid she'll walk through the 
woods, you know. (To Benham.) We'll have tea in 
here. 



The Great Broxopp 251 

Benham: Yes, sir. 
{Exit Benham.) 

Iris: Jack, you have been bad. 

Jack: I know. I told Dad this morning to leave it 
all to me. That's what comes of getting so old — your 
memory goes. 

Iris: I do wish this hadn't happened. 

Jack: After all, darling, it's only a mile by the short 
way and it's a jolly afternoon. There won't be any- 
thing about it in the papers. 

Iris: Nancy will think that when she goes away I 
just take possession of her house and ask my own 
friends down, and don't even trouble to send a car to 
meet her at the station. 

Jack: Anyone who knows Mother knows that she 
never thinks things like that. 

Iris: I know. That seems to make it worse. (She 
sits on the artn of his chair.) Jack, don't you think it's 
time we had a house of our own? This has been very 
jolly here for a few months but — you do want to get 
started on your work, don't you ? 

lack: Of course I do, sweetheart. Only we can't 
begin till we get the studio, can we? 

Iris: London's full of studios, lazy one. 

Jack: Yes, but you don't realise how important it 
is to an artist to get the exact surroundings. And now 
that we've found the studio in all London, and the man 
who's in it happens to be leaving in six months, it's ab- 
surd to go looking about for another. It's simply a 
question of waiting. 

Iris: Six months? 

Jack: Well, if we're lucky, he may die before. But 
we can't count on it. 



252 The Great Broxopp 

Iris: (Unconvinced.) Oh, well . . . Well, I'm 

glad Nancy is coming back today. 

Jack: After all, darling, it was more or less up to 
us to give Dad and Mother a start with their new house. 
They've lived in London so long that — well — I mean, 
naturally they wanted a bit of a start. 

Iris: When Nancy is here, she looks as if she had 
lived in this sort of house all her life. She's just part 
of it. 

Jack: (Digesting this nem idea.) Do you know, 
that's quite true, Iris. I'd never really thought about it, 
but — yes, she does go with it somehow. 

Iris: She loves it. She's awfully happy here. 

Jack: Of course she is, So's Dad. 

Iris: (Looking at him with a smile.) Do you think 
so? 

Jack: (Confidently.) Oh, rather! Why, my dear 
girl, just look at the difference between a place like this 
and that awful office and factory in London. And look 
at his life now. Why, he never had a moment to him- 
self before, and now he can do what he likes all day 
. . . Money! It's a great thing to have money. Re- 
flection by John James Chillingham. 

Iris: You can't get money without work. 

Jack : Yes, but when you've got the money, why go 
on working? 

Iris: We haven't even begun yet. 

Jack: (Lazily.) You should read your Bible more. 
Moses or somebody said that no husband ought to do 
any work for a year after he's married. I quite agree 
with him. (Playing with her hair.) Did I ever tell 
you that I much prefer your hair to the stuff you see 
hanging in shop windows in Bond Street? 
Iris : ( Softly. ) Do you ? 



The Great Broxopp 253 

Jack: It comes down, doesn't it? 

Iris: Yes, when you take the pins out. 

Jack : . Wonderful hair . . . Did I ever tell you that 
I like your eyes much better than the ones you see 
lying about in fishmongers' shops next to the ice? 

Iris: (Smiling.) Do you? 

Jack: They've got so much more expression . . . 
Did I ever tell you — hullo, here's tea. 
{Benham comes in.) 

Has the car gone, Benham? 

Benham: Yes, sir. 

Jack: Good. Let's hope the train's late. 

Benham: (Arranging the tea.) I'm afraid it is not 
very likely, sir, I remember his Grace once commenting 
on the curious fact that, whenever one particularly 
wished a train to be late, it was invariably punctual. 

Jack: His Grace seems to have been a highly original 
thinker. 

Benham: Yes, sir, he was very well tolerated in the 
family. 

Jack : Well, this must seem rather a holiday for you 
after the intellectual life at the castle. You must make 
the most of it, Benham. 

Benham: Thank you, sir. 

Iris: Is Mr. Chillingham back yet? 

Benham: Yes, madam. He will be down directly. 
Sir Roger is engaged in the morning-room, Madam, 
with the financial papers, and will not require tea. 

Iris: Thank you. 

Benham : Thank you, madam. 

(EArit Benham.) 
Iris: I wonder what Father's up to now? 



254 The Great Broxopp 

Jack: {Carelessly.) Losing Dad's money for him, 
I expect. 

Iris: (Seriously.) Jack, you don't really mean 
that? 

Jack: (Laughing.) Of course not, darling. 

Iris: Father has such a way of losing other people's 
money with an air of conferring a favour upon them 
that it's very difficult to know what is happening some- 
times. But still, I suppose he does know all about 
stocks and shares and things. 

Jack: (Lazily.) He thinks he does, anyway. Well, 
I'm glad / don't. What's the matter with giving me 
some tea ? We needn't wait for Dad. ( To Norah and 
Ronny as they come in.) Come along, you're just in 
time .... Ah, now you look quite nice again, Ronny. 
( They all sit around the tea-things. ) 

Iris: What had you been doing to him, Norah ? 

Norah: I told him he wasn't grown-up yet, and he 
tried to prove he was by throwing cushions at me. 

Jack: That's a nasty one, Ronny. You'll have to 
write to your solicitors about that. 

Ronny: ( Taking a piece of bread and butter. ) Now, 
look here, I don't want any more of it, Norah. I'm 
older than you, anyway. And Jack and Iris aren't ex- 
actly bald yet . . . What about that foursome after 
tea? 

Jack: Iris and I are ready. (To Iris.) We'll 
put it across them this time, won't we ? 

Iris: (Doubtfully.) Well, I'm not quite sure if 
I 

Ronny: If you're thinking about Mr. Chillingham, 
he doesn't want to play. I asked him. 

Iris: Oh, well, then, that's all right. He wants to 
wait for Nancy, I expect. Bless them. 



The Great Broxopp 255 

Norah: I'm not at all sure that I approve of this 
old-fashioned sentiment about married life. 

Jack: I say, this is rather alarming. {Anxiously.) 
You don't mind Iris and me being in love with each 
other ? 

Norah : In the first year of marriage, no, as long as 
it's not obtrusive. 

Iris: {Turning away.) Jack, turn the other way 
at once. 

{Jack turns his hack to Iris.) 

Norah: But women will never be properly free 

Ronny: {Offering plate.) Oh, Lord, have a bun. 

Norah: {Taking one.) — until it is recognised that 

marriage 

{Broxopp comes in.) 

Jack: Hallo, Dad, what luck? 

Broxopp: {Sitting in an uncomfortable chair, a lit- 
tle way from the table.) Ah, tea. 

Jack: Fish rising? 

Broxopp: They may have risen, Jack, but if so they 
went back again. {Looking at his watch.) The train's 
very late. She ought to have been here by now. 

Iris: There was some mistake about the car, dear. 
She will be here directly. {She gives Broxopp his 
tea.) 

Broxopp : Thank you, thank you. 

Norah: I was just saying, Mr. Chillingham, that 
women will never be properly free until it is recog- 
nised that marriage is only an intellectual partnership 
in which both the contracting parties have equal rights. 
Of course, I can hardly expect you to agree with me. 

Broxopp: {Looking blankly at her.) I'm afraid 
I 



256 The Great Broxopp 

Ronny: Agree with you? I should think not in- 
deed. If you knew a Httle more about the world, 
Norah 

Norah: My dear Ronny, the only world that you 
know is bounded on the north by Newmarket, on the 
south by the Savoy, on the east by the Empire, and on 
the west by the Winning Post. 

Iris: You'll have to write to your solicitors again, 
Ronny. 

Jack: I say, Norah, you mustn't say things like that 
without warning. Must she, Dad? Bread and but- 
ter? (He offers the plate to Broxopp who takes a 
piece.) 

Broxopp: (Bewildered.) I'm afraid I hardly 

Thank you. 

Iris: Was that original, Norah? 

Norah: (Calmly.) Perfectly. Why not? I sup- 
pose Jack thinks that all the clever things must be said 
by men. I don't know what you feel about it, Mr. 
Chillingham 

Broxopp : I — er 

Jack: Then all I can say is that you must have 
bribed Ronny to lead up to it. 

Iris: They've been rehearsing all the afternoon, I 
expect. Norah's cue was "world." (To Jack.) Shall 
we let them do it again ? 

Jack: Come on, Ronny. "If you knew a little more 
about the world, Norah " 

Iris: "My dear Ronny, the only world that you 
know " 

Jack: They could go on at the Palladium as 
"Ronald and Norah," Ronald leaning over the piano 
in white gloves. 



The Great Broxopp 257 

Iris: Norah in a smile and shoulder straps looking 
at him over the music. 

Norah: (To Broxopp.) This, Mr. Chillingham, is 
the marriage of intellect on an equal basis, which I was 
advocating just now. 

Broxopp: You — er — were advo ? 

Jack: Ronny, it's your turn to say something bril- 
liant. 

Ronny: No, thanks, I'll leave that to Norah's hus- 
band. When they are living in intellectual companion- 
ship together, they can fire off epigrams at each other 
all day long. What a life ! Don't you agree with me, 
Mr. Chihingham? Have another bun, won't you? {He 
takes one himself.) 

Broxopp: Miss Field was talking about the mar- 
riage of intellects. I remember — {To Ronny zvith the 
bun plate.) No, thank you. 

Norah: Don't eat too many, Ronny. We've got to 
beat them afterwards, you know. You're not playing, 
Mr. Chillingham? 

Broxopp: No, I think I 

Jack: Beat us, indeed. I should like to see you do 
it. 

Ronny: Well, you will, Jack, old boy. What shall 
we give them this time, Norah? A third? I should 
think a third ; wouldn't you, Mr. Chillingham ? 

Broxopp: I'm afraid I don't 

Norah: What would you like, Iris, or would you 
rather play level for once? 

Iris: {To Jack.) Aren't they delightful ? They've 
been rehearsing this, too, I expect. 

Jack: {Handing his cup.) Stop being funny, and 
let me finish my tea. 



258 The Great Broxopp 

Iris: (To Broxopp.) You'll want to wait for 
Nancy, won't you, dear? 

Ronny: Do play if you'd like to, you know. Of 
course, it will dish the foursome rather, but 

Broxopp: Thank you, Mr. Derwent, but I shall be 
waiting for Mrs. Chillingham. 

Norah: I was saying just now, Mr. Chillingham, 
that I don't altogether approve of married people 

Jack: Help! She's leading up to her epigram 
again. 

Broxopp: Yes, Miss Field? 

Ronny: I say, don't encourage her, we've had it 
all once. {He takes a bun.) 

Norah: (Taking it away from him.) No more, 
Ronny, thank you. Remember we've got to beat them. 

Ronny: (Getting up.) Right you are, old girl. 
(To Iris.) Are you ready? 

Iris: I think so, aren't we, Jack? (To Broxopp.) 
Will you have some more tea, dear? 

Broxopp: Not now, thank you. Iris. I'll wait for 
Nancy. 

Jack: (Finishing his tea.) I say, what's the 
hurry? I've only just begun. 

Ronny: Rot. Come on. 

Iris: (Getting up.) I'll have half-a-crown on it, 
Norah. 

Norah: Done. 

Ronny: You too. Jack? 

Jack: Rather! 

Ronny: Goodman. What about Mr. Chillingham? 
Care to bet against us? I'll give you five to four as 
you're a friend. 



The Great Broxopp 259 

Broxopp: No, I think not, thank you, Mr. Derwent. 

Ronny: Perhaps you're wise. You wouldn't have 
a chance. Come along. 

Iris: Benham will make some fresh tea, dear. Give 
Nancy a special kiss from me. 

Broxopp: Thank you. Iris, I will 

Nor ah: {At the door.) The whole question of 
kissing seems to me 

Ronny: Oh, come off it. {He drags her away.) 

Jack: Cheer oh, Dad! You and mother might 
come along and watch us if you've nothing better to 
do. {To Ronny in front.) All right, we're coming. 
{Jack and Iris go out. 

Left alone Broxopp rings the bell and then sits 
dozvn in rather a bewildered zvay. 
Benham comes in. ) 

Broxopp: We shall want some fresh tea for Mrs. 
Chillingham when she comes in. 

Benham: Yes, sir. I think I saw her just coming 
through the rose garden, sir. 

Broxopp: {Jumping up and going to the door.) 
Coming through the — you don't mean to say that — 
Why, Nancy! {He brings her in.) Benham, get that 
fresh tea at once ! 

Benham: {Going to tea table.) Yes, sir. 

Nancy: How are you, Benham? Isn't it nice to be 
back? Yes, I should like some tea, please. And you 
had better send the car for my luggage. 

Broxopp: Your luggage? You don't mean 

Benham: The car has gone, madam. 

Nancy: Ah, that's right. 
{Benham goes out.) 

Broxopp: {Horrified.) Nancy, you weren't met? 



26o The Great Broxopp 

Nancy: No, darling, I suppose there was some mis- 
take. 

Broxopp: {Throwing up his hands in despair.) I 
thought I could leave that much to Jack. Well, let's 
have a look at you. (He holds her at arms' length.) 
And they forgot all about you ! 

Nancy: Oh, but I enjoyed the walk, you know. The 
woods, Jim! You never saw anything like them just 
now. 

Broxopp: Oh, well, nothing matters now you're 
here. (He kisses her.) Do you know Miss Norah 
Field, Nancy? 

Nancy: I expect she was at the wedding, wasn't 
she? Iris told me she wanted to ask her here. Is she 
nice? 

Broxopp: (Kissing her again.) She doesn't ap- 
prove of kissing. 

Nancy: (Sitting down at the tea table.) Perhaps 
she's never tried. 

Enter Benham. 

Tea, how nice. You must have it with me, Jim. 

Broxopp: (Firmly.) I'm going to. 

Benham: Is there anything more, Madam? 

Nancy: No, thank you. Are you quite well, Ben- 
ham? 

Benham: Yes, thank you, madam. Pretty well, 
considering. 

Nancy: That's right. 
(Benham goes out. 

As soon as they are alone, Nancy blows 
Broxopp a kiss and then pours out the tea.) 

Nancy: Well, how has everybody been getting on 
without me? 



The Great Broxopp 261 

Broxopp: {Tapping his chest.) Me? 

Nancy: You, and everybody — Is Sir Roger still 
here? 

Broxopp: Oh, yes. 

Nancy: Well, all of you. And the garden, and the 
puppies. Oh, I asked you to tell me and you never 
did. Has the moorhen had any babies yet? 

Broxopp: (Bewildered.) Moorhen? 

Nancy: The one on the pond. Don't say that the 
tulips are over. I couldn't bear it. Oh, Jim, the blue- 
bells in the wood ! Will you come with me and see the 
puppies after tea? 

Broxopp: Of course I will . . . Bread and butter, 
or what will you have? (He offers her a plate.) 

Nancy: No, I won't have anything to eat. (Look- 
ing round the hall.) Oh, it is lovely to be back. Have 
you been very lonely without me? 

Broxopp : Very. 

Nancy: The one letter I had from Jack seemed to 
say that you were all enjoying yourselves very much. 
What have you been doing? You didn't tell me much 
about yourself. 

Broxopp: Oh, fishing, golf — all the things that a 
country gentleman does. Talking to Jack and his 
friends. (Grimly.) They are wonderful talkers. 

Nancy: (Proudly.) So are you, Jim. 

Broxopp: (Shaking his head.) The world is get- 
ting too quick for me. When I talk, I like to finish 
what I have to say. I never seem to have a chance 
now . . , But never mind about me. Tell me about 
yourself. Did you have a comfortable journey? 

Nancy: It's always comfortable first class. 



262 The Great Broxopp 

Broxopp: {Eagerly.) And how's old London look- 
ing? 

Nancy: (Smiling.) Just the same. 
Broxopp: {Casually.) You didn't happen to be 
Fenchurch Street way at all any time ? 

Nancy: Oh, no. I don't suppose anybody would 
have known me. 

Broxopp: {Eagerly.) Old Carter would — I sup- 
pose he's still there. They wouldn't get rid of Carter. 
He always used to remember how you came up the 
first day we opened the office, and I'd had lunch sent 
in — do you remember? — and a bottle of champagne. 
The first champagne you'd ever had — do you remem- 
ber, Nancy? — and how frightened you were when the 
cork came out. 

Nancy: {Gently.) I remember, Jim. 

Broxopp: I thought perhaps you might just have 
passed by outside — on your way somewhere. {Wist- 
fully.) I suppose you still see the same — the same 
advertisements everywhere? Have we — have they got 
any new ones. 

Nancy: I didn't notice any. 

Broxopp: {Nodding his head.) They can't do bet- 
ter than the old ones. {After a pause.) Of course, 
there are new ideas {He gets up and walks about) — 
there was one I was thinking of this morning when I 
was out — nothing to do with me now — I just hap- 
pened to think of it. {He is carried away by it as he 
goes on.) I don't know if you've ever seen a man 
drawing on a film — you see a few lines first which 
mean nothing, and then gradually it begins to take 
shape. Well, you'd have your posters like that — alter- 
ing every week. A large poster with just a few mean- 
ingless lines on it. Everybody would wonder what it 



The Great Broxopp 263 

meant. They'd aJl talk about it. Next week a few 
more lines added. It still means nothing, but one sees 
just a vague hint of a picture coming. Everybody still 
talking about it. Next week a curve here and there, a 
bit of shading somewhere. People get more and more 
interested. What is coming ? And so it goes on. And 
then in the last week, the lines all join together, some 

of them become writing, you see ''BROXOPPS " 

{He breaks off, pulls himself together, and says 
casually.) The idea just came to me this morning 
when I was out. Of course, it's nothing to do with me 
now. (He gives a little laugh and sits doztm again.) 

Nancy: {Who has been matching him intently.) 
It's a wonderful idea. 

Broxopp: {Pleased.) Not bad, is it? {With an 
effort.) However, that's nothing to do with it, now. 

Nancy: {Slowly to herself.) I think perhaps it 
has. 

Broxopp: {Trying to get away from his thoughts.) 
And how did you leave Emily? 

Nancy: {Thinking of other things.) Oh, she was 
very well when I left. Better than I've seen her lately. 

Broxopp: Sorry to let you go, I expect. 

Nancy: She was very glad when I came. She'd 
had rather a fright about her money. 

Broxopp: Oh, what was that? 

Nancy: I don't know that I quite understood it all, 
but there was some Building Society — the Excelsior, 
I think it was called — a very good investment, all the 
advertisements said — and she sold all her shares in or- 
der to put it into this, and then a man she met — some- 
body who really does know — told her it was 

Broxopp: Fraudulent? 



264 The Great Broxopp 

Nancy: Well, that she'd lose all her money. And 
so she had to buy back all the shares she had sold, and 
pay much more for them. I don't know why. 

Broxopp: Price gone up, I suppose. 

Nancy: Oh, would that be it? Well, it wasn't very 
nice for her. But, of course, she's thankful when she 
thinks of what might have happened. 

Broxopp: Funny how everybody thinks that he 
can make money in the City. People say to me, "You're 
a business man." I say, "I'm not a business man. I'm 
an artist. I have large ideas. But I know my limita- 
tions. I employ business men. That's why I've built 
up such a good business." In the same way I employ 
Sir Roger. He knows; I don't. But Sir Roger 
couldn't have made Broxopp. 

Nancy: I've been thinking about Sir Roger. Does 
he know? 

Broxopp: {A little alarmed.) What do you mean, 
Nancy ? 

Nancy: Of course, he's quite honest, but I think 
sometimes we've been rather foolish in letting him 
have so much to say in the investing of your money. 
I suppose "^you keep an eye on things for yourself? 

Broxopp: (Hastily.) Yes, yes, of course I do . . . 
He is a little difficult to — er — I mean he has rather 
a way with him, which — But I must certainly go 
into things with him. You're quite right, Nancy. I'm 
not going to let Sir Roger or anybody else play ducks 
and drakes with the money which / earned. (He looks 
round the hall, and then says, proudly.) And I started 
at six shillings a week! (Bitterly.) Let Mr. Ronny 
Derwent do that if he can. 

Nancy: (Going to him.) I'm sure Mr. Ronny Der- 



The Great Broxopp 265 

went couldn't. (Kissing him.) Does he object to kiss- 
ing, too? 

(They are interrupted by the arrival of Sir 
Roger, much to Broxopp' s confusion. ) 

Tenterden: Ah, Mrs. Chillingham, so you're back! 
Welcome home! 

Nancy: How do you do. Sir Roger? 

Tenterden: A pleasant visit, I hope? 

Nancy: Very, thank you. But I'm glad to be home 
again. 

Tenterden: With so beautiful a house, who would 
not? 

Broxopp: Oh, we're very comfortable here, aren't 
we, Nancy? 

Nancy: (Looking round it, and speaking from the 
heart.) I love it! ... . Have you had tea, Sir 
Roger ? 

Tenterden: Yes, yes, thank you, all I want. Been 
busy all day, Mrs. Chilfingham. A great nuisance, 
business, on a day like this. And when there is so 
much that is attractive all around one. And there's 
your lucky husband — no cares at all — goes off fishing 
— By the way, Chillingham, what luck? 

Broxopp: (Carelessly.) Oh, about the usual . . . 
Er — I was — er — wanting to talk to you. Sir Roger, 
about — er 

Tenterden: My dear friend, by all means. In fact, 
I was going to ask you to spare me a few moments. I 
rather want your advice. 

Nancy: (Preparing to go.) Well, I must take off 
my things. And you can talk business together. I 



266 The Great Broxopp 

expect you will want to be alone. But don't keep him 
too long, Sir Roger, because I want him. 

{Tenterden is moving politely to the door but 
Broxopp does not move.) 

Broxopp: (With a smile.) You're my business 
partner, Nancy, I've no secrets from you. If you don'^t 
mind, Sir Roger? If it's just a question of a lucky in- 
vestment you have put me into — well, my wife shares 
my good fortune to-day, just as she shared my ill- 
fortune in the days gone by. 

Tenterden: It is just as Mrs. Chillingham wishes. 

Nancy: You can always tell me afterwards, Jim. 

Broxopp: Nonsense, we may want your help. (To 
Tenterden.) I remember once putting a little money 
into a mine which a friend had spoken well of. My 
wife was very much against it — do you remember, 
Nancy? She said that it would be much safer in the 
bank. Well, she was quite right. 

Nancy: (Sitting down again.) Of course, I was. 
( With a smile of remembrance. ) But do you remem- 
ber what fun we had watching the papers to see 
whether it went up or down ? 

Broxopp: Yes ... it went down. 

Tenterden: Ah, what mine was that? 

Broxopp: Oh, I really forget now. Some Welsh 
gold-mine, I believe. 

Tenterden: Yes, I think I could have given you a 
word of warning about Welsh gold-mines, Chilling- 
ham, if you had consulted me. 

Broxopp: This was long before we had the pleas- 
ure of knowing you, Sir Roger. 

Tenterden: Ah, a pity, a pity! 

Nancy : ( With a pleasant smile. ) That's why we're 
so glad to have your help now. I should never have 



The Great Broxopp 267 

trusted Jim with all the money he got from Broxopp's 
Beans. 

Tenterden: {Wincing at the hated word.) All the 
money he — ah — retired with. Yes. Well, I hope, 
Chillingham, I really hope that we shall be able to do 
something for you before very long. 

Broxopp: Well, I left it to you, Sir Roger. But 
naturally I — er — like to know how things are going on. 
How are those Oil Shares ? 

Tenterden: Oil! Oil! Ah, yes. Well, we have 
lost a little there. {With a charming smile.) You 
know how it is, Mrs. Chillingham. One loses a little 
here, and picks up a little more there . . . Yes, I have 
been disappointed over that oil. Very disappointed. 
However, we must take these things as they come. 

Nancy: I always think that something safe, how- 
ever little interest it pays, is — is safest. 

Tenterden: Safer than losing it, my dear Mrs. 
Chillingham — all women will agree with you there — 
but not so pleasant as winning a little more. Your 
husband sold his business at an unfortunate time. Our 
hand was forced ; we had to sell ; we had to take the 
price they offered. Possibly, if we had had more time 
to look round, we should have done better, but there 
it was. Naturally, then, your husband felt that a little 
speculation before investing — well, I call it a specula- 
tion, but as I could tell him from my inside knowledge, 
it was almost a certainty. And had it come off, it 
would have given him enough for that safe investment, 
with small interest which you {zmth a bow to Mrs. 
Chillingliam) very naturally desire. 

Broxopp: {Sharply.) Had it come off, you say? 

Tenterden: Exactly. As you know, my dear Chill- 
ingham, one loses a little more here and picks up a 



268 The Great Broxopp 

little there. In the end one finds that one has picked 
up a good deal more than one has lost. If one knows 
the ropes, Mrs. Chillingham. That, if I may say so, 
is where I come in; and very much at your service. 

Broxopp: {Fiercely.) How much of my money 
have you lost? 

Tenterden: {Gently.) I think, Chillingham, that 
that is hardly the way to put it. I am not — {With a 
bow) an absconding solicitor. 

Broxopp: {Upset.) I beg your pardon. Sir Roger. 
What I feel is that if it is a question of losing money 
by speculation, I can lose it quite easily by myself. I 
don't want any help. I understood that I could rely 
upon your knowledge 

Tenterden: {Beautifully.) My dear Chillingham, 
of course, of course. You are quite right. I will let 
you have a note of your investments this evening. 
Naturally you will wish to conduct your business your- 
self in the future, or to take other advice. {With a 
smile to Nancy.) I think your husband is quite right, 
Mrs. Chillingham. Business and friendship should 
not be mixed up. Although, of course, if one hears of 
a good thing, one does like putting one's — ah — best 
pals on to it. It's human nature, I suppose, 

Nancy: Oh, but I'm sure Jim didn't mean to sug- 
gest 

Tenterden: {Smiling.) That I was a knave? No, 
hardly. But that I was a fool! Eh, Chillingham? Oh, 
I think so. I think so. 

Broxopp: {Very uncomfortably.) Sir Roger — you 
see — of course I don't 

Tenterden: {Holding up his hand.) Please, please 
don't say any more. If anything, the apology should 
come from me. I have lost your money. {To Nancy 



The Great Broxopp 269 

charmingly.) Yes, Mrs. ChilHngham, a good deal of 
it. And a good deal of my own, too. Fortunately I 
see my way to getting my own back, with a little over. 
(Laughing pleasantly.) But of course I mustn't tell 
your husband how. Eh, ChilHngham ? He has washed 
his hands of me. Quite right, too. I should never for- 
give myself if I mentioned now the little investment 
which is going to put me on my legs, because he might 
be tempted to come into it, too, and — (With a shrug.) 
After all, you can never be certain. We have had one 
disappointment over the Oil ; we might have another 
over — well, shall we say cocoanuts? But somehow 
(Smiling to himself.) I don't think that we shall . . . 
But, of course, one can't guarantee it. (Getting up.) 
Well, Mrs. ChilHngham, then that's settled. (He gives 
her a pleasant smile.) ChilHngham, perhaps you could 
spare me half an hour this evening, and then we can go 
into these matters. Between ourselves, Mrs. Chilling- 
ham, I shall be glad to be relieved of the responsibility. 
(Looking through the windozv.) Beautiful weather 
we're having just now. The young people out enjoying 
themselves, I suppose. Golf, what? No cares, no 
responsibilities — lucky young people! Well, then, this 
evening, ChilHngham. 

(Tenterden gives them a pleasant nod and goes 
out.) 

Broxopp: (Unhappy.) Nancy, I wasn't rude, was 
I? 

Nancy: (Her thoughts elsewhere.) No, dear, no. 

Broxopp: You don't think Jack will think I was — 
ungrateful and — and ill-mannered? 

Nancy: No, dear, you — After all, as you said, why 
should Sir Roger lose the money which you have 
worked so hard for? 



270 The Great Broxopp 

Broxopp: Exactly. And I didn't accuse him of any- 
thing. I only said 

Nancy : ( Watching him carefully. ) The money on 
which you were going to retire so happily. 

Broxopp: Yes, exactly, 

Nancy: No more anxieties, no more hard work. 
Just a happy quiet life, all the day to yourself, doing 
whatever you liked. 

Broxopp: {Less heartily.) Er — yes. Yes. 

Nancy: Fishing 

Broxopp: {Doing his best.) Yes. 

Nancy: Golf 

Broxopp: {Looking at her and looking away 
again.) Yes. 

Nancy: Talking to Jack's friends {Broxopp 

doesn't exactly say anything) enjoying yourself from 
morning till night. 

Broxopp: {Eagerly.) And you, too, Nancy! 

Nancy: Oh yes, I enjoy it. {With a sigh.) I love 
it. 

Broxopp: {Trying to he enthusiastic.) Of course 
its a fine place. A very fine place. 

Nancy: Yes . . . All the same, dear, I think per- 
haps you were a little — not rude exactly — abrupt with 
Sir Roger. 

Broxopp: {Anxiously.) Do you think so? 

Nancy: {Nodding.) 'M. 

Broxopp: Ought I to go and — er — just say some- 
thing 

Nancy: I think you'd better leave it to me, dear. 
{She gives him her purse-bag.) Just put this up in 
my room for me, and wait for me in the rose-garden. 



The Great Broxopp 271 

Broxopp : You're going to — say something to him ? 
{She nods.) You're quite right, Nancy. Perhaps I 
was a Httle — I don't want him to think — Well, I'll wait 
for you in the rose-garden. 

(As Broxopp goes out he turns at the door, and 

Nancy blows a kiss to him. 
Left alone, she looks round her hall, sighs, and 
goes to the door and looks out at her garden, 
shakes her head at it, and comes back again. 
She is just going to the morning-room when 
— Sir Roger comes in.) 
Tenterden: Ah, Mrs. Chillingham. I think I left 
the paper — Ah, there it is! 

Nancy: I was just coming to see you, Sir Roger. 
Tenterden: {With a bow.) Need I say that I am 
always at your service? 

Nancy: {Indicating a chair.) Do sit down, won't 
you? {She sits down herself.) 

Tenterden: {Sitting.) Thank you. 
Nancy: Sir Roger, has my husband lost much of 
his money? 

Tenterden: My dear Mrs. Chillingham, five min- 
utes ago I should not have used the word "lost" at all. 
It was just, if I may put it so, the opening skirmish in 
a campaign. One does not say that a campaign is lost 
because at the first few shots — {He shrugs his shoul- 
ders. ) 

Nancy: Yes, I understand, 

Tenterden: However, now that I am no longer 

responsible for the campaign 

Nancy: {Quietly.) I don't want you to say that. 

Tenterden: Well, I confess that I should be very 

sorry to say so, particularly just at this moment when I 

see my way to something really big. I received some 



2^2 The Great Broxopp 

information yesterday — well, it is as I was telling you 
just now. Cocoanuts, I called it. {With a smile.) 
No, it is not cocoanuts, Mrs. Chillingham. Something 
better than cocoanuts. A Building Society. I have 
the option of a very large block of shares 

Nancy: (With a start.) A Building Society? 
Not the Excelsior? 

Tenterden: Yes. Why, have you heard about it? 

Nancy: (Looking at him thoughtfully.) A friend 
of mine was mentioning it. 

Tenterden: Well, if he's wise, he'll go in. And if 
I were still advising Mr. Chillingham, I should say to 
him "Go in." Go right in — as a speculation, if you 
like — the price will go up and up — or better still, as an 
investment. There's your gilt-edged investment, Mrs. 
Chillingham. Not three per cent, though ; ten. And 
safe. Safe as (with a smile) shall I say houses? 

Nancy: (To herself .) I wonder. It's a chance. 

Tenterden: It's more than a chance. It's a cer- 
tainty. My experience of the City, my knowledge of 
these undertakings, tells me that it's a certainty. 

Nancy: (Absently.) Yes, I didn't mean that sort 
of chance , . . (She gets up.) Sir Roger, I think I 
can persuade my husband. I agree with you that it's 
too good a chance to be missed. And (She gives him a 
smile, but it is a secret joke of her own.) I should like 
to say that I have absolute confidence in you. (She 
gives him her hand. ) 

Tenterden: (Kissing if gracefully.) My dear lady, 
I am sure that your husband will never regret it. 

Nancy: (To herself, zvith rather a zinstful smile, as 
he goes to the door.) Well, that's what I'm rather 
hoping. 



The Great Broxopp 273 

(She looks a little sadly round the home that she. 

has come to love so much. 
Broxopp comes in.) 

Broxopp: Oh, you're here ? Have you 

Nancy: I've spoken to him. 
Broxopp : Is it all right ? 

Nancy: (Going to him and taking his arm.) Every- 
thing is going to be quite all right, dear. 

(They go into the garden together.) 



ACT IV 

Scene: Broxopp is back at No. 26. The room looks 
much the same as it did those many years ago, but 
it has been improved by one or two pieces of fur- 
niture saved from the wreck. 
The Broxopps are out, and Sir Roger Tenterden 
is waiting for the return of one of them. He is 
getting impatient. He looks at his watch and de- 
cides that he can wait no longer. He picks up his 
hat and is on his way to the door, when — Nancy 
comes in with some parcels in a string bag. 

Nancy: (Taken by surprise.) Oh, how you startled 
me . . . Why, it's Sir Roger! 

Tenterden: I must apologise 

Nancy: (Smiling.) So must I. I've been shopping 
And it's the maid's afternoon out. 

Tenterden: (A little blankly.) Oh — ah — yes. They 
told me down below to come up and — ah 

Nancy: That's right. I just went out to get some 
kidneys. 

She holds up a parcel and Sir Roger shudders. 
I haven't bought kidneys for I don't know how many 
years; it feels quite strange. Do come and sit down. 
How's Iris? We haven't seen her lately. (She leads 
the way to the table and puts the bag down on it.) 

Tenterden: Well, it was really about Iris that I ven- 
tured to come and see you so informally, Mrs. Chil- 
lingham. I happened to have a business appointment 

just across the road, and — ah 

274 



The Great Broxopp 275 

Nancy: How nice of you! 

Tenter den: Is Iris quite well? 

Nancy: Oh, I think so. Jack seems to be very busy. 
We have a note from him every now and then, saying 
that they will come and see us when his picture is fin- 
ished. 

Tenterden: Ah! So he's painting. Excellent. 

Nancy: They've a studio in St. John's Wood. But 
surely Iris must have told you? 

Tenterden: I assure you, Mrs. Chillingham, that 
Iris has not condescended to communicate with me 
since — ah 

Nancy: Since we lost all our money. 

Tenterden: Since that very unfortunate Excelsior 
business. Upon my word, I don't know what the City 
is coming to nowadays. With so many rogues about, 
it is almost impossible for a gentleman to make an 
honest living. However, things have been looking up 
lately. {Smiling to himself.) Oh, yes, looking up — 
decidedly. But then I knew they would. I only wish, 
my dear Mrs. Chillingham, that your husband could 
have been participating in my good fortune. 

Nancy: (Smiling.) Well, we had no money left, 
you see. 

Tenterden: (Holding up a hand.) Don't think I 
am blaming your husband. Pray don't think that. I 
assure you, I quite understand. And so Jack is paint- 
ing? Making quite a good living by it, what? You 
relieve my mind considerably, Mrs. Chillingham. I 
shall go away happy now. I shouldn't have liked to 
think that my daughter was uncomfortable. What a 
thing it is to be born with such a gift! Lucky Jack! 
And Mr. Chillingham, I trust, quite well ? 



2y(y The Great Broxopp 

Namcy: Very well indeed, thank you. He hasn't 
looked so well for a long time. 

Tenterden: Excellent, excellent. And making his 
fortune again, I've no doubt. I'm delighted to hear it. 
Well, Mrs. Chillingham, I must be getting on. I am 
most relieved to hear your good news. Remember me 
to your husband, please, and tell him that if, at any 
time, he wants a good investment, I shall only be too 
delighted to be of any service. (Holding up his hand.) 
No, don't thank me. I should be only too glad to. It 
would be a privilege. (He shakes her warmly by the 
hand.) Good-bye, good-bye. 

(He goes out, magnificently. 

As soon as she has recovered, Nancy takes off 
her hat and goes to the table to work. Seeing 
the string bag there, she takes both it and the 
hat out of the room, and comes back again. 
Then she settles down at the table to it. She 
is drawing an advertisement for Broxopp, as 
we can see by the way she bites her pencil and 
frowns to herself. 

'A cheerful voice, singing a song without words, 
is heard outside, and The Great One Comes 
In. He is wearing the old sombrero — the 
Broxopp hat — and (a novelty this) a pale 
grey tail coat and trousers. He carries two 
or three parcels in his hand.) 

Broxopp : Nancy ! 

Nancy: (Jumping up.) Jim! 

Broxopp: My darling! Just wait a moment till I 
put down these parcels. (He puts them down on the 
table.) Now then! (He holds out his arms and she 
comes to him. After he has kissed her, he says solemn- 
ly.) I've thanked Heaven every day since we've been 



The Great Broxopp 2"]^ 

here that I can kiss you now without being observed by 
butlers. Another one! 

{He kisses her again and then holds her at arms' 
length.) 
All right? 

Nancy: Of course I am. 

Broxopp: (Taking off his hat.) I met Sir Roger 
just outside. 

Nancy: Did you speak to him? 

Broxopp: I said "Hallo!" and he said "Ah, Chil- 
hngham, Chillingham !" Has he been here? 

Nancy: Just to ask after Iris, and (smiling) to say 
how glad he was that you were making your fortune 
again. 

Broxopp: Did you tell him that I was making my 
fortune again? 

Nancy: He told himself. I didn't say anything. 
Broxopp: Well, you might have, Nancy. Because 
it's true. I'm going to. 

Nancy: I'm sure you are, dear . . . Say you don't 
feel bitter against Sir Roger. 

Broxopp: Bitter? Nancy, I'll tell you a secret. I'm 
glad he has lost my money. 

(Nancy nods to herself.) 

There! There are not many people who would say 
that, but then I'm not like other people. I have my own 
way of looking at things . , . Well, and what have 
you been doing? 

Nancy: Shopping. And — (looking rather sadly at 
her drawing.) — and Ajax. 
Broxopp: Ajax? 
Nancy: Ajax defying the lightning. 



278 The Great Broxopp 

'Broxopp: (Pleased.) Ah, that was a good idea, 
wasn't it, Nancy? (Declaiming.) "Ajax defied the 
lightning. Why? Because he knew that he was in- 
sured against fire with the West End Insurance Com- 
pany." (Going over to her work.) Have you been 
doing that for me? 

Nancy: Yes, darhng, but I can't get Ajax properly. 
He doesn't look as though he's defying anything. 

Broxopp: (Looking at Ajax.) No, he doesn't, 
does he? Yet what a touch you had with suspenders 
in the old days. 

Nancy: (Sadly.) I think suspenders must be easier 
than Ajaxes, unless perhaps it's because I'm getting old. 

Broxopp: (Indignantly.) Old? You get younger 
every day. (Picking up one of his parcels.) In fact, 
you're such a baby that I had to buy these for you this 
afternoon. (He hands her a box of chocolates with 
a how.) 

Nancy: Oh, Jim, darling, you shouldn't waste your 
money on me. You must remember what a little we 
have now. 

Broxopp : The less money we have, the more reason 
for spending it so as to produce the greatest amount 
of happiness. It gave the shopman great pleasure to 
sell these chocolates to me, it gave me great pleasure 
to buy them for you, it's going to give you great pleas- 
ure to eat them. Was ever half-a-crown more nobly 
spent? 

Nancy : Hal f -a-cro wn ? 

Broxopp: (Airily.) Two and sixpence. 

Nancy: Of course, in a way, it's fun beginning all 
over again 

Broxopp: Fun! It's Life! Did you ever hear of 
a man called Stevenson? He invented the first steam 



The Great Broxopp 279 

engine. He agrees with me about this. He said "To 
travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive." Of 
course, he was thinking of his railways. But it's true. 
Going there is better fun than getting there. We got 
there once, Nancy, and now we are going there again. 

Nancy: But we're twenty-five years older. 

Broxopp: And twenty -five years wiser, and twenty- 
five years more in love with each other. That makes a 
difference. 

Nancy: Yes, but what Fm rather afraid of is that 
we've had — well, fifteen years of spending money, and 
— (She opens the bvx and looks at it doubtfully.) — 
Well, I may as well see what they're like. (She nibbles 
one.) They are lovely. (She puts it in her mouth.) 

Broxopp: You needn't be afraid. We're going to 
have money to spend. But we'll have the fun o«f mak- 
ing it first. (With an air.) Madam, you see before 
you the Great Chillingham. (A little hurt.) You 
don't say anything. 

(She taps her mouth to indicate that she is too 
bursy.) 
Ah, I see. But perhaps it is as well. The Great Chil- 
lingham is not yet before you. I spoke too soon. (He 
begins to undo the other parcels.) 

Nancy: (Now articulate.) Yes, darling? 

Broxopp: Wait! (He opens the parcels — a Chil- 
lingham grey bowler hat and a Chillingham pink tie are 
disclosed. ) Permit me, Madam, to introduce to you the 
Chillingham hat and the Chillingham tie ! 

Nancy: (Lovingly.) My Broxopp baby! 

Broxopp: (A little hurt.) This is not babyness, it's 
business. I called on the Aquavim people today — the 
Brain Tonic for Tired Workers. I announced that I 
was willing to undertake the entire management and re- 



28o The Great Broxopp 

construction of their business for them. They decHned. 
I then said that, temporarily and until greater oppor- 
tunities offered, I might be induced to advertise their 
poison for them. They replied that they no longer 
wrote their own advertisements ; they were written for 
them by eminent authors, actors, painters, soldiers and 
statesmen, in exchange for a few bottles and the pub- 
licity which it brought them. I said modestly that, if 
it came to that, I myself was at one time not unknown 
in the world of commerce. The manager looked at my 
card again and regretted that he could not seem to re- 
call the name of Chillingham. That opened my eyes, 
Nancy, and I decided that all the world should know — 
(Putting on the bowler hat and striking an attitude.) 
The Great Chillingham ! But you'll see it better direct- 
ly, when I've got the tie on. 

Nancy: (Going to him.) Say you don't regret 
Broxopp very much. 

Broxopp: Does an artist regret selling a picture 
after he has painted it? I made the name of Broxopp 
and when I had made it, I sold it. Now I'm going to 
make the name of Chillingham. I can make any name 
— with you helping me, Nancy. 

Nancy: Of course you can. (Timidly.) Have you 
decided what we shall make the name of Chillingham 
famous about? 

Broxopp: That's the beauty of it. I got so deep 
into that groove of Beans for Babies that I thought 
of nothing else for twenty-five years. Now we have 
the whole world to choose from. Don't let us be in a 
hurry. (Taking off his hat and regarding it.) I think 
the new hat is striking, don't you? But keep the old 
one, Nancy? When the story of my life comes to be 
written, the author may wish to see it personally. Well, 



The Great Broxopp 281 

I'll go and put the tie on . . . But I was forgetting. 
Who do you think I saw today? 

Nancy : ( Eagerly. ) Not Jack ? 

Broxopp : Jack. 

Nancy: But why didn't you tell me? How is he? 
How is he looking? 

Broxopp: You'll see for yourself directly. He and 
Iris are coining round tliis afternoon. 

Nancy: How nice. Then I suppose his picture is 
finished. How is Iris? 

Broxopp: He didn't tell me anything, except that 
he was coming. We were both of us in a hurry. Well, 
I'll go and put on this tie. On this day The Great 
Chillingham was born. 

(Broxopp goes out. 

Nancy retnrns to Ajax, but she has hardly be- 
gtm to do anything to it, zuhen there is a 
gentle tap at the door.) 

Nancy: Come in. 

Iris: (Her head round the door.) May I come in? 

Nancy: Oh, Iris ! And I'm not dressed or anything. 

Iris: Well, I'm not very grand myself. (Kissing 
her.) You look as young as ever, Nancy. Is Jack 
here? 

Nancy: No. He's coming, isn't he? 

Iris: He was going to meet me here. (Looking 
round the room she says sadly) Oh, Nancy! 

Nancy: Why ''Oh, Nancy?" 

Iris: To see you in this room — after what you're 
accustomed to. 

Nancy: (Smiling.) But I'm accustomed to this. 
This is where we lived before Jack was bom. 



282 The Great Broxopp 

Iris: I know. And now Jack and I have brought 
you back to it . . . Do you forgive me? 

Nancy: I shan't if you talk so fooHshly. 

Iris: You'll never forgive Father, of course. 
Neither shall I. I told him so. 

Nancy: Yes, I'm not sure that you ought to have 
. . . You see, it was just as much my doing as your 
father's. 

Iris: (Surprised) Yours? 

Nancy: (Nodding.) Yes. You see, Jim wasn't 
happy at the Manor House. I thought at first that he 
might manage to be, but he wasn't. He's the sort of 
man who must always be working. And so I thought 
that if we lost all our money and had to start work 
again, there was just a chance of his being happy again. 
So I — (a little embarrassed.) I'm afraid I encouraged 
your father rather. 

Iris: I don't think Father wants much encourage- 
ment at losing other people's money. 

Nancy: Well, I didn't stop him when I knew he was 
being silly, and I wouldn't let Jim stop him, and — and 
well, here we are, dear, and Jim is as happy as can be. 

Iris: And is Nancy? 

Nancy: (A little sadly.) Well, of course, I did 
love the Manor House, Iris. (With a sudden smile.) 
But this is fun, you know. It's like a second honey- 
moon. 

Iris: Oh, Nancy! . . . And how is Daddy 
Broxopp? 

Nancy: (With a loving smile.) Enjoying himself 
so much. Oh, we shall be all right. He'll get hold of 
some wonderful idea soon. (Getting up.) Come and 
take off your hat. You mustn't be a visitor. 
{There is a knock at the door.) 



The Great Broxopp 283 

There ! That's Jack ! 
{Enter Jack.) 
Jack: (Announcing himself.) The Return of the 
Prodigal. 

Nancy: Oh, Jack, how nice to see you again, dear. 
Jack: (Kissing her.) How are you, darhng? You 
look remarkably blooming. (Shaking hands with Iris. ) 
How do you do, Madam? 
Iris: How do you do, sir? 

Nancy: Iris is just coming into my room. We 
won't be long. 

Jack: Right. Where's Dad? 
Nancy: He'll be here in a moment. 
Jack: Good man. (He opens the door for them. 
To Iris.) You haven't broken the bad news yet? 
Iris: No. 

Nancy: Jack! There's nothing ? 

Iris: (Smiling.) It's all right, dear. It's only a 
little discovery we've made 

Nancy: There are plenty of discoveries to be made 
when you are poor. 

(Nancy and Iris go out together. 
Jack zvanders round the room and comes to 
the unfinished Ajax on the table.) 
Jack: (Catching sight of it.) Good heavens, who's 
this? (Looking at it carefully.) It can't be anybody 
at the Club. 

(Enter Broxopp with a terrific air as the Great 
Chillingham. He pulls up at seeing only 
Jack.) 
Broxopp: Hallo, boy. So you've come. 
Jack: Hallo, Dad. 
Broxopp: Iris here? 



284 The Great Broxopp 

Jack: Yes, she's in with mother. 

Broxopp: How are you getting on? We haven't 
seen much of you lately. 

Jack: Well, we've all been working so hard. {Go- 
ing up to him.) You're looking extraordinary bright, 
Dad. {He puts an arm affectionately round his father's 
shoulder and fingers the Chillingham tie.) Who's your 
lady friend ? 

Broxopp: {With dignity.) Have you never heard 
of the Chillingham tie, boy? 

Jack: Never. Is that it? 

Broxopp: It is. {Simply.) It will be heard of one 
day. 

Jack: I'm sure it will. I can almost hear it now. 
{Patting him affectionately.) Dear old Dad — I've been 
a rotten son to you, haven't I ? 

Broxopp: {Considering it fairly.) No, I won't say 
that. Jack. You were a very good son to me when 
you were a baby. You did a lot for the Broxopp bus- 
iness, and I used to like telling people in the City all 
the funny little things you said. Besides, you made 
your mother very happy. And then when you were 
growing up I used to enjoy talking about my boy at 
Eton and my boy at Oxford. One way and another 
I've got a good deal of happiness out of you. 

Jack: And then, when I was grown up, you sud- 
denly found that I was a selfish beast. 

Broxopp: You can't expect Father and Son to see 
things the same way. One or the other has got to be 
selfish. It's generally the father. 

Jack: Well, in this case it was the son. And I've 
made a pretty good hash of things, haven't I ? To think 
that just because of me, you and Mother are living in 
this shabby little place when you might be 



The Great Broxopp 285 

Broxopp: {In alarm.) Don't say fishing! 

Jack: Well, let's say living in comfort. 

Broxopp : You may say I might have been living in 
comfort. That's where you're wrong. I might have 
been existing in comfort ; I shouldn't have been living. 
You needn't reproach yourself at all. I gave up the 
business for you. Yes. But I hadn't been really happy 
there for some time. It was getting too easy. You see, 
I like fighting. So does your mother , . . She is a 
great help to me. Jack. Stick to your wife whatever 
happens, my boy. (Sententiotisly.) A good woman 
is like 

Jack: (Wickedly.) Is this from Broxoppiana or 
Chillinghamiana ? 

Broxopp: (Plaintively.) That's the worst of hav- 
ing a grown-up son ; he lets you know when he finds you 
out. A wife never does . . . Well, and how's the 
picture ? Finished ? 

Jack: Wait till Iris comes in. We've decided to 
tell you our sad story hand in hand. Besides, while 
we've got the chance, Dad, there's something I want 
you to tell me. 

Broxopp: Well, what is it? 

Jack: Well, then — as man to man — how are you 
getting on ? 

Broxopp: As man to man, Jack, I am really happy 
again. 

Jack: Yes, I know, but I didn't ask if you were 
happy. I asked you how you were getting on. 

Broxopp: This is the life I like, my boy. It's harder 
than it was when I first began, but I made good once 
and I can do it again. (Thumping the table.) I like 
doing it. 



286 The Great Broxopp 

Jack: Yes, but you still haven't told me how you 
are getting on. 

Broxopp: Don't you worry about w^. I'll make my 
fortune again long before you make yours with paint- 
ing. 

Jack: Yes, you might well do that. {After a pause.) 
Look here, you gave me £350 a year out of the wreck. 
What did you keep for yourself and Mother? 

Broxopp: Really, Jack, I refuse to be cross-exam- 
ined like this. 

Jack: It's no good refusing, because I shall simply 
ask Mother. 

Broxopp: (Smiling to himself.) All right, ask her. 

Jack: (Looking at him zinth sudden suspicion.) 
You wicked old villain, you've been deceiving her, too. 
(Sternly.) Did you leave anything for yourself at all? 

Broxopp: Of course I did. Look here, boy, it may 
be difficult for you to believe, but there was a time 
when your father's name was in everybody's mouth. 

Jack: His beans were, anyway. But for Heaven's 
sake don't rub it in that I made you change your name, 
and lost your business for you. I know all that; I'm 
here to apologise, 

Broxopp: I'm not referring to that at all. All I 
want you to understand is that if I made a name and a 
fortune before, I can do it again. That's the sort of 
man I am. It's quite different with you. You never 
had any education. I started learning at eight years 
old; you didn't start till you were twenty-five. It's 
hard luck on you having only £350 a year now, but 
perhaps you'll be able to do something with your paint- 
ing before long. Only don't worry about me. 

Jack: Dad, you're a gentleman, you really are. Then 



The Great Broxopp 287 

you've forgiven my blessed father-in-law for playing 
the fool with your money? 

Broxopp: That is not the way to speak of Sir Roger. 
Sir Roger Tenterden does not "play the fool" with 
money. With the utmost courtesy he condescends to 
lose it for you. 

Jack: Yes, but all the same, I think you ought to 
have taken a hand when you saw how things were 
going. 

Broxopp: {Looking mysteriously round the room to 
see that they are alone.) Jack, never let anybody know, 
but it was really your mother's doing. I think she was 
a little afraid of Sir Roger, a little over-awed by him. 
There were many occasions when I was on the point of 
interfering, but your mother always seemed quite satis- 
fied with the way things were going. She seemed to 
trust Sir Roger, and — well, I gave way to her. For 
once her judgment was wrong. But of course I let her 
think that I alone am responsible. 

Jack: I see . . .But you're quite happy now? 

Broxopp: Happy? My boy, it's life! 

Jack: Happier than you were at the Manor House? 

Broxopp: A hundred times! 

Jack: Yes. (He rises and says solemnly.) Dad, I 
promise never to let mother know that she is responsible 
for this. 

Broxopp: (Taking it quite seriously.) That's right, 
my boy. 

Jack: (Laughing.) Oh, Dad, you're priceless. 
(More gravely.) So is mother . , . 
(Nancy and Iris come in.) 

Iris: Hullo, Daddy Broxopp. 

Broxopp: (Kissing her.) Hullo, my girl. You 
haven't called me that for a long time. 



288 The Great Broxopp 

Iris: I know. Let's try and forget that. Are you 

going to forgive me ? She has. 

Broxopp: Forgive you for what? 

Iris: Well, for not having been an orphan — for one 
thing. 

Nancy: (Shaking her head at her with a smile.) 
Iris! 

Iris: And for putting a lot of nonsense into Jack's 
head, and making an utter mess of things, 

lack: My dear girl, any nonsense in my head came 
there of itself, it wasn't put in by you. 

Iris: Well, there it was, anyhow. The fact is. 
Daddy Broxopp, we've made a discovery in the last few 
months. 

Broxopp: Hallo, what's that? 

Iris: Well, it's rather important. Are you ready, 
Jack ? ( Taking lack's hand. ) We have discovered 

lack: Once, finally and for all 

Iris: That Jack Chillingham 

lack: Ne Broxopp 

Iris: Cannot paint. 

Jack: He cannot paint. 

Jack and Iris Together: He cannot cannot paint. 

Nancy: Oh, Jack, what a disappointment for you, 

Broxopp : How did you discover it, boy ? 

lack: By regarding my latest masterpiece in a dis- 
passionate light. You ought to have seen it. Dad. It 
was called "The First Meeting of Henry V. with 
Katherine of France." 

Iris: I sat for Katherine. 

lack: She also stood for Henry V. I wish you had 
seen her as Henry V ; it would have been a surprise for 
you. 



I 

The Great Broxopp 289 

Iris: I was jolly good. 

Jack: It was going to be my Academy picture. That 
was why I chose that subject. It was the stodgiest sub- 
ject I could think of. Unfortunately, when I had fin- 
ished it, I regarded it in a dispassionate light and — 
(frankly.) it was rotten. 

Iris: Very rotten. 

Jack: Very, very rotten. 

Nancy: Oh, poor Jack ! I understand how you must 
have felt. 

Jack: Well then, we put our heads together. 

Iris: (Leaning her head against his.) Like this. 

Jack: And decided that we were taking your money 
under false pretences. 

Iris: Because you see he cannot paint. 

Jack: He cannot pai'nt. 

Jack and Iris Together: He cannot cannot paint. 

Broxopp : Well, what are you going to do, then ? 

Iris: (Surprised.) Give you back your money, of 
course. 

Broxopp: Don't be silly. I didn't mean that. What 
work are you going to do? 

Jack: (Wandering round the room.) Well, that's 
rather the question. Iris thought — (He stops suddenly 
at the sight of his mother's drawing.) Oh Lord, here's 
this again. What on earth ? 

Broxopp: (Off-handedly.) Just a rough sketch for 
an advertisement — a little idea of mine — Ajax defying 
the lightning — Your mother was — Well then. Jack, 
you 

Jack: (Looking up at his mother reproachfully.) 
Mother, darling! 

Nancy: Oh, Jack, A j axes are so hard. 



290 The Great Broxopp 

Jack: (Sitting down and picking up the pencil.) 
Oh, but — Iris, you'll have to stand for Ajax, Imagine 
Dad's the lightning and defy him like the dickens. (Be- 
gining to draw.) Right foot out a bit more. Hands 
iDchind the back, I think. Keep the head well up — as 
though you thought nothing of him. 

Iris: Daddy Broxopp, I defy you. {She gives a 
hurried glance at Jack to make sure he is not looking, 
blows a hasty kiss to Broxopp, and hastily resumes her 
defiant attitude. Nancy is looking over Jack's shoul- 
der.) 

Jack: {Drawing.) You'd find yourself much safer 
with a model, Mother, even for a rough sketch. You 
get so much more life into it. 

Nancy: Oh, Jack, I wish I could draw like that. 

Iris: He isn't bad, is he? 

Jack: {Still at it.) Keep your head up ... I can't 
draw — but when I say I can't draw, I don't mean the 
same as when I say I can't paint. You see — Listen ! 
{A loud knocking is heard at the outer door.) 

Iris: {Nodding her head at Broxopp.) That's you, 
Daddy Broxopp. You did the lightning so well that 
you've brought on the thunder. 

Nancy: Oh, I'd better go. The maid's out. 

Jack: {Getting up.) No, you don't; I'll go. It's 
Dad's lady friend — I'll bet you what you like — come to 
see his tie. Perhaps I can buy her off on the mat. 

Nancy: {Shaking her head at him.) Jack! 
{Jack goes out.) 

Iris: {Relaxing.) Well, I suppose he won't want 
Ajax any more. {She goes over to look at the sketch.) 
Doesn't he draw nicely? (To Broxopp.) That squig- 
gly bit is you. {Looking from one to the other.) No, 
1 shouldn't recognise you. 



The Great Broxopp 291 

Broxopp: {Picking up the sketch.) Yes, that's the 
way to draw. {To Nancy.) All the same, darling, I 
shall never forget the way you drew those suspenders in 

the old days. There was something about them 

{Jack and Miss Johns come in.) 

Jack: (Protesting as he tomes in.) Oh, but I assure 
you I remember you perfectly. Mother, this is Miss 
Johns. You remember her, don't you ? She was — er — 
in the old days — don't you remember ? 

Nancy: {Holding out her hand.) How do you do, 
Miss Johns ? It's very nice of you to come and see us 
now. {Hopefully to Broxopp.) Jim, you remember 
Miss Johns ? 

Broxopp: {The only one who does, and he can't 
place her for the moment. ) Delighted to see you again, 
Miss Johns. Of course, I remember you perfectly. 
{He looks at her with a pusded expression.) 

Miss Johns: It's very good of you to remember me, 
Mr. Broxopp — I mean Chillingham. I can hardly ex- 
pect you to. lonly just came because I'm your neigh- 
bour, and — {looking round her awkwardly.) — but 
perhaps you'd rather I 

Broxopp: Oh, not at all. You know Jack's wife, 
don't you? {They bow to each other.) Sit down and 
tell us what you have been doing lately. 

{She sits down. Jack wanders hack to his 
sketch and Iris goes •with him, looking over 
his shoulder as he touches it up.) 

Miss Johns: You know, I don't believe you do re- 
member me, Mr. Broxopp — I beg your pardon, I mean 
Mr. Chillingham. 

Broxopp: {Grindy.) I don't, but I'm going to. 
{He looks at her with a frown.) 

Nancy: {Kindly, as Miss Johns is obviously get- 



292 The Great Broxopp 

ting uncomfortable under Broxopp' s gaze.) Darling 
one 

Broxopp: Wait! {Thumping his hand with his 
fist.) I've got it! (Pointing to her.) You inter- 
viewed me on that day — of course, I remember you 
now. 

Miss Johns: Oh, Mr. Brox — Oh, how wonderful 
of you to remember when you must have been inter- 
viewed so often. 

Broxopp: Yes, but you were the last person to inter- 
view the Great Broxopp. You heard that I had 
changed my name? 

Miss Johns: Oh, I was so sorry! I heard about it 
all, and how you 

Broxopp: Oh well, you mustn't pity us too much. 
We're quite happy here, aren't we, Nancy? 

Nancy: This is where we began, you know. 

Broxopp: Why of course she knows. I remember 
your saying that you lived on the floor below. And 
are you still on the same paper ? 

Miss Johns: Yes, but — er — (She is obviously un- 
comfortable.) 

Broxopp-: But they don't want an interview with 
The Great Chillingham. (With utter confidence.) 
They will. Miss Johns, they will. 

Miss Johns: (Enthusiastically.) Oh, I'm sure 
they will. 

Broxopp: (Suddenly.) How's your brother? 

Miss Johns: (Very m,uch flattered.) Oh, do you 
remember him? How wonderful you are! 

Broxopp: (Struggling ivdth his memories.) Yes — 
I remember — I — (He stands up triumphant.) I've 
got it! Chillingham's Cheese for Chickens! 



The Great Broxopp 293 

Jack: Hullo! Dad's off. 
Iris: Go it, Daddy Broxopp. 
Nancy: S'sh, dear. 

Broxopp: That Chicken Food — it's not on the mar- 
ket yet? 

Miss Johns: No. Oh, do you really think 

Broxopp: Your brother still believes in it? Well, 
that doesn't matter. He'll believe in it when / take it 
up. Can you get your brother up to London? 

Miss Johns: (Overwhelmed.) Yes, I think 

Broxopp: (Overwhelming her still more complete- 
ly.) Can you get him up at once? This evening? 
Send him a telegram now — Don't be afraid of a long 
one — I'm paying for it. (Taking out half -a^-cr own.) 
Here you are — That's a good girl. (Hurrying her to 
the door.) Off you go! Remember, I've got to see 
him tonight. Got that? Good, 

(Miss Johns goes out still overwhelmed.) 

Jack: I say, Dad, you needn't go bustling the poor 
girl out like that. I could have gone. 

Broxopp: (In command.) No, you couldn't. I 
want you. Now then. Jack, you were offering just 
now to give me back that money. I won't take it. But 
we shall want all the capital we can get for this. Will 
you come into partnership ? 

Jack: By Jove, rather. I don't know what it's all 
about, but I'm with you, 

Broxopp: (To Jack.) All right. Sit down. Draw 
a hen. Wait ! Have you got any ideas about Art for 
Art's sake ? 

Jack: (Drawing.) You wouldn't ask that if you'd 
seen my Academy picture. 



294 The Great Broxopp 

Broxopp: Good! A hen sitting on an enormous 

Iris: {Looking over Jack.) Doesn't my husband 
draw nicely? He's in work again now. Employed 
regular. 

Nancy: (Sadly.) I can't think how you do it, dear. 

Broxopp: Above — "Chillingham's Cheese for 
Chickens." Underneath — "Makes Hens Lay." 

Jack: Why cheese? 

Broxopp: Why not? 

Jack : True. 

Broxopp: Makes Hens Lay. 

Iris: (Looking up.) You're sure it does make 
hens lay ? I thought chicken food only made chickens 
grow. 

Broxopp: (With the grim determination that made 
the Beans.) If I say that it makes them lay, it makes 
them lay. 

Jack: That's right, Dad. Don't you stand any 
nonsense from a Buff Orpington. 

Broxopp: It's a question of faith, Iris. If the hen 
knows you have faith in her, she'll respond, (Ecstati- 
cally to himself.) Makes hens lay. I see a poultry 
farm in every back garden. I see eggs on every break- 
fast table. Chillingham eggs. 

Jack: Chillingham and bacon for breakfast — 
hooray ! 

Broxopp: Jack, as soon as I get my office fixed up, 
you will be kept busy drawing posters. I've got plenty 
of ideas for you. Iris, will you take a job as clerk? 
No salary, but we'll give you shares. 
Jack: Jump at it, darling. 
Iris: Done, Daddy Broxopp. 



The Great Broxopp 295 

Broxopp: {Ecstatically.) Nancy, there's work — 
hard work in front of us. Are you ready for it? 

Nancy: {Modestly.) You've got Jack and Iris to 
help you now. You don't want me. 

Broxopp: Ah, but I must have you. You must 
always be holding my hand. 

Nancy : { Tenderly as she takes his hand. ) There's 
never been more than one Broxopp Baby. 

Broxopp: {With dignity.) Madam, you see be- 
fore you The Great Broxopp — {Looking dozvn at 
Jack.) No, not the Great Broxopp. Chillingham — 
and Son. 



The Wandering Jew 

A Drama in Four Phases 

By 
E. Temple Thurston 

Mr. Thurston has struck out on an 
origmal line in this powerful representa- 
tion of the old legend of the Jew who 
was doomed to wander the earth until 
Judgment day. The play, which has 
been enjoying a long run in London, and 
will be presented in America this fall, is 
divided into four phases. The scene of 
the first phase is laid in Jerusalem on 
the day of the Crucifixion ; the second in 
Syria at the time of the first Crusade ; the 
third, Sicily of the Xlllth Century, and 
the fourth in Seville during the Inquisition. 

G. P. Putnam's Sons 

New York London 



DULCY 

A Comedy in Three Acts 

By 
GEORGE S. KAUFMAN 

and 

MARC CONNELLY 

Introduction by 
BOOTH TARKINGTON 

12°, Illustrated 

This clever, satirical comedy, in which 
the leading character is a charming, child- 
like, irresponsible, well-meaning, feather- 
brained young hostess, is the outstanding 
success of the New York theatrical season. 
The authors concede "a bow to F. P. A.," 
whose "Dulcinea" has long been a feature 
of The Conning Tower, his clever column 
in the New Vor^ Tribune. 



G. P. Putnam's Sons 

New York London 



The 
Whiteheaded Boy 

By 
Lennox Robinson 



With an Introduction by 
Ernest Boyd 

The Whiteheaded Boy is the cleverest 
of the comedies produced by the Irish 
Players in recent years. It was first 
given at the Abbey Theatre in Dublin, 
and then for a full season in London, 
where it had phenomenal success. The 
richness of its humour, the drollery of 
the situations, and the perfection of play- 
writing which it exhibits, place it high 
among modem plays. It represents the 
best work of the author, who has been 
proclaimed as another Sjnige. 



G. P. Putnam's Sons 

New York London 



Three Wonder Plays 

By 

Lady Gregory 

Author of " Seven Short Plays," etc. 

The Dragon/ Aristotle's Bellows f The Jester. 
Of the first of these amusmg new plays, a 
DubUn critic says: 

"Lady Gregory has written another really 
funny play in The Dragon, which is her best 
since The Workhouse Ward. It is the strang- 
est mixture of ancient and modem fun ever 
concocted, and only Lady Gregory could 
piece the thing together and make it 
'stageable.' I have not heard so much 
genuine hilarity at the Abbey for years. 
There are no dull moments in this strange 
conception." 

G. P. Putnam's Sons 

New York London 



MAY 3ib40 



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